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T AailCONIC ; 



THE llOMANCE AND BEAUTY 



^ 
^ 



OF THE HILLS. 



BY G0J3FREY GREYLOCK. 

2>rv^vJtJ.^, \cmi/lJ^ OcLu\n^''-y'^ C 






"Thou Shalt look 
Upon the green and rolling forest tops, 
And down into the secrets of the glens 
And streams, that with their bordering thickets strive 
To hide their windings. Thou shalt gaze at once 
Here on white villages and tilth and herds. 
And swarming roads, and there on solitudes 
That only hear the torrent and the wind, 
And Eagle's shriek." 

Bryant. 



BOSTON : 
LEE AND SHEPARD, PUBLISHERS. 

NEW YORK : PITTSPIELD: 

Cdakles T. Dillingham. S E. NicnoLS 

1819. 



• B5 S73 



In ExchsntrA 
D O. Pub. Lab. 



COPYRIGHT 

BY 

,1. E. A. SMITH, 

1879. 



ALBANY, N. Y.: 

J. MuNSEix, Printer, 

82 State Street. 



25355 



EPISTLE DEDICATORY. 



Friends : — 

From Vermont upon the north to Connecticut 
upon the south, for fifty miles along the eastern 
border of New York, extends Berkshire, the most 
western county of Massachusetts. It is a region of 
hill and valley, of lake and stream, of woodland, 
farm and field. Its beauty is world renowned; for 
the pens of Cullen Bryant and Catherine Sedgwick 
early made it their favorite themes, and in later years 
Holmes and Longfellow, Hawthorne, Melville and 
Thoreau have invested it with the halo of their 
genius. Within its limits lie Monument Mountain, 
Icy Glen, the Stockbridge Bowl, Green River, Octo- 
ber Mountain and a thousand other scenes of storied 
or of unsung loveliness. 

Bounding the valley on the north, from innumera- 
ble points of view, the double peaks of Greylock 
rise majestically three thousand five hundred feet 
into the air, the mountain summit of the Common- 
wealth. Along its western borders, in curves of 
marvelou.s grace, lie the dome-like hills of the Tagh- 



2 KPISTLE nKDICATORY. 

conic range. Less graceful in outliue, but even 
more romantic with broken and precipitous ascents, 
wild glens and tumbling brooks, the Hoosacs shut out 
the world upon the east. Within this mountain- 
walled amphitheatre lies cradled the upland valley 
of the Housatonic, with all its fertile farms, its man- 
sion homes, and frequent villages. Somebody has 
called it the Piedmont of America. I do not know 
how just the appellation may be, but I do know that 
if Piedmont can rightly be called the Berkshire of 
Europe, it must be a very delightful region. 

What we most admire in Berkshire scenery is its 
freshness, boldness, and variety. Our hills boast no 
astounding grandeur; there is nothing about them of 
an Alpine character; they p<5ssess few scenes which 
can properly rank with the sublime. The highest 
mountain tops, the most precipitous cliffs — suthcient 
to claim our admiration, wild enough to be the mar- 
vel of tourists from the tame coast country — cannot, 
for a moment, compare with similar scenes among 
the White Mountains, or the AUeghanies — not to 
mention more una})proachable wonders of Nature. 
Our deepest ravines, often penetrated by smooth, 
flower-bordered roads, are very different things 
indeed, from the earthquake-rifted chasnis of other 
lands. 

If the traveller seek some object for a day's or a 
week's wonder, some tremendous cataract or " Heaven 
piercing Cordillera," he must seek it elsewhere. But 
if he asks for a retreat among wild and picturesque 
scenery, adorned by much that is pleasant and re- 



4 



lil'ISTLK DEDICATORY. 6 

fined in his city life, but far removed from its beat 
and turmoil; where he can draw closer the silken 
cord of social intercourse, and yet throw loose some 
of its galling chains; where nature ennobles by her 
greatness but never chills with a frown, lie nuiy find 
it all amid the varied beauty of the Berkshire Hills. 
The inexhaustible variety of our vistas is Avonder- 
ful. It is marvellous in what an endless series of 
combinations, mountain, valley, lake, stream, rock, 
field and wood, present themselves. Wherever you 
go, you meet a constant succession of changes which 
at once charm the eye and delight the heart. At 
every turn 

" You stand suddenly astonished, 
You are gladdened unaware." 

Through the long summer months you may daily 
seek, and not in vain, some new object of beauty or 
of romantic interest. But it may chance that you 
will not. It often happens that a few spots become 
80 dear that one revisits them again and again, leav- 
ing others of equal or surpassing charms for tliose to 
whom they have become like a familiar friend. 

So profusely indeed hafj nature scattered her 
wealth of beauty in this fair county that, to many, 
it seems a useless labor to search out her more choice 
and hidden gems; and they remain concealed from 
those who pass their lives within a rifle-shot of 
them. 

The traditions, too, which used to attach to most 
of these scenes are rapidly fading with the fading 
years of grey-haired men. " Yes, there was a story " 



4 EPISTLE DEDICATORY. 

I have been often told, " Old Deacon Whitehead or 
old Captain Grey used to tell it; but they are dead 
and my memory of it is dim." * * * * * * * 

And now to you, whom I have presumed to call 
my friends, and for whom these brief pages were 
more particularly designed, I commend for your 
kindness what is done. Every word was written in 
sympathy with your admiration of these glorious 
hills; a sympathy which seemed to ripen into per- 
sonal friendship with yourselves. If I shall point 
any of you to scenes of Nature's gladness, to which 
you would otherwise have been strangers; if I shall 
contribute one moment of happiness to your summer 
hours; if I shall hereafter recall more vividly to your 
mind these rural scenes, when they shall be a little 
faded, I shall be amply "repaid; how much more, if I 
shall add one pleasant thought to mingle with your 
own, as you gaze upon the grand, the noble, or the 
beautiful, in our dear moiintain valley. 

Old Fkiends : — 

]Mnuv vears ago, in words like the above I ad- 
dressed to you a little volume, which, somewhat 
changed in form, but not one whit in sentiment, I 
now offer to you again. If the words I then wrote 
were warm with the glow of first love, they seem 
tame to express the affection which, in the inter- 
course of years, has been inspired by each fair scene, 
each now familiar mountain peak; so many of them 
now inseparably associated with pleasant or tender 
memories. 

Do vou remember — it was but vesterdav — stand- 



EPISTLE DEDICATORY. 6 

ing on the beetling cliffs of Monument Mountain; 
clambering through the rock-cumbered recesses of the 
Icy Glen; lingering in pleasant Mahaiwe, blest of 
nature and of art; watching the moon and the sun- 
rise on the shaggy shoulders of Grey lock; wading 
and stumbling through the rushing brook up the 
marble ravine that leads to the Natural Bridge; 
dazed by the superb over-view from Perry's Peak; 
climbing the cliff wood recesses of South Mountain; 
letting the long summer days melt deliciously away, 
with discourse of books and nature, on the leafy sum- 
mits of Osceola and Yocun's Seat; in storm on 
Otaneaque, in sunshine on Constitution Hill; floating 
half sadly on Lake Onota or the Stockbridge Bowl; 
in merry masquerade on Pontoosuc or the Lily Bowl ; 
listening to the lonely dash of Wahconah's Falls, or 
the mirth-mingled murmurs of Lulu Cascade; watch- 
ing the summer-flash of life and fashion into the 
romantic solitude of Lebanon; puzzling over the 
potent charms of Lenox, loved of the literati; 
rapt in the noble memories of old Stockbridge on the 
Plain, and the no less noble memories of Poontoosuc, 
home of patriots; lingering in many a nameless nook 
or shaded woodroad, to be, perhaps, thenceforward 
dearer than all ? You cannot have forgotten all 
this, for you know it was but a little, a very little 
while ago when it all happened. 

And of tale and tradition; how have they on 
every hand answered to our seeking, and clothed 
every scene anew, with old life. To be sure, I have 
not deemed it necessary to severely criticise every 



6 EPISTLE DEDICATOEY. 

tradition that has been preserved. Enough that it 
accorded with the spirit and the customs of the day 
of which it was related, and did not knock its brains 
out against some hard and ugly fact. Nay, I will 
even make a more startling confession. When in 
some dry old documentary history, or original docu- 
ment yellowed by age, I have found a glimpse of 
real life and real story, I have not been ashamed to 
call in the spirit of any old fellow, whom I supposed 
cognizant of the facts, to help me fill out the chroni- 
cle. Living for years half buried in accounts of 
these departed heroes and among the papers which 
they wrote — all the while striving with all my might 
to do justice to their memories — I should have 
thought it hard indeed if they could not now and then 
tell me a little story at midnight, when other spirits 
bestow their time so freely upon those who have no 
claim at all upon them. My old heroes were not so 
ungrateful. It does not seem best, however, to quote 
these spiritual authorities in foot notes, as e. g. 

' Interview with Capt. Konkapot and Wampenum. 
' Spirits of Captains Aupaumut and Solomon. 
'Thus Coochecomeek, but Mahtookamiu seems to think 
otherwise ; however, M. did not seem, perfectly en rapport. 

I am afraid this sort of thing would not do at all 
for the Methuselah Society for the Perversion of 
History. Nevertheless the testimony of eye-wit- 
nesses of, or actors in, scenes which took place, 
over two hundred years ago, is very satisfactory to 
right-minded people; and if they are willing to leave 
their happy hunting grounds or other places of com- 



EPISTLE DEDICATORY. 7 

fortable spiritual abode and pleasure, to tell old tales 
of their old home, I for one am grateful. If you 
think otherwise, we will not quarrel about it: you 
shall have the stories all the same, just as the dusky 
shades of the heroes already quoted, and also Unka- 
met, Honasada, Wanaubaugus and the gentle Wah- 
conah, told them to me. 

But, from whatever sources I may draw the inci- 
dents and legends associated with the scenery of 
Berkshire, I shall endeavor that none are inconsis- 
tent with the most accurate history; that nothing 
shall be told, but which at least " might have been." 
And I trust that none of my readers will be so 
dull as not 'to be able to detect what is literally 
true and what partakes of the infirmities of tradi- 
tion. In the description of scenery my aim will be 
in all cases, without affecting any Pre-Raphaelite 
precision, to paint a faithful likeness. If I err it 
will not be in the intention. 

I said that I address these little sketches to those 
to whom they were first dedicated; but, with the 
words, comes the thought that, of those favoring eyes 
to which I should have looked for the kindliest judg- 
ment, many have closed forever on the scenes of 
earth; that there are some spots, once the most 
joyous, which if we visit them for the purposes of 
mirth, seem strangely changed: 

" Happy places have grown holy ; 

If w6 went where once we went, 
Only tears would fall down slowly, 

Afl at solemn sacrament." 



8 EPISTLS DEBICATOBT. 

And yet we know that those whom we miss 
would have grieved sorely had they believed that 
their departure would leave a shadow, their memory 
could not brighten, upon the scenes that we enjoyed 
together. For us who remain, it would have been 
their wish that that memory should shed upon each 
spot with which it is associated, a purer and holier, 
but not less gladsome, light. To the living who 
have lingered with me in loving admiration among 
the hills of our dear old Berkshire, and to the memo- 
ries of our dead, I then dedicate these pages. 

We are most of us, still far from having lived out 
the life which it is appointed for man to live; still 
farther perhaps from having thoroughly earned the 
grave which we would not willingly owe to the charity 
of a soil to which we have given less than we have 
received from it. And upon him whose duty it 
is to live and strive, rests equally the obligation to 
enjoy; for he who works sadly, works at ill advantage; 
nor without enjoyment can there be any genuine and 
heartfelt gratitude for the gifts of the Creator — of 
which none speak more directly of Him than these 
grand mountains, these noble hills, these fair and 
fruitful valleys; among which let us hope that our 
rambles are not yet ended. 

Godfrey Gretlock. 

PiTTsriELD, June ls<, 1879. 



TAGHCONIC. 

I. 

OUR TOWN. 

" Mine, and mine I loved, and mine I prized, 
And mine that I was proud on : mine so much 
That I was to myself not mine." 



To be sure, the first claim which our town has 
to notice is that it is ours. The proprid affords 
a paramount and never-to-be-disi^uted title to our 
affections. That, all clear-sighted persons admit. 
The very idea of property is genial to our hearts, 
even if it be only in the travelled streets of a town, 
with so much of Heaven's universal gifts as one can 
there possess, use and enjoy, in common with some 
thousands of copartners. Says Thoreau, with philoso- 
phic acumen — and Southey has the same idea, some- 
what enlarged, in " The Doctor " — "I think nothing 
is to be ho^jed from you, if this bit of mold under 
your feet is not sweeter for you to eat than any 
other iu this woi'ld — or any other world." " Mine " 
and more intensely " mine own," are terms of super- 
lative endearment in the patois of the novel writers. 



10 TAGHCOXIC, 

So inherent indeed in the human heart, is this cor- 
respoudouoe between ownership and affection, that 
no sooner do we conceive a liking for our neighbor's 
house, hoi'se, or, anything that is his, than au \iueasT, 
feverish desire to transfer the possession betrays that 
our hearts are out of uuison ■with the harmouy of 
nature. 

Xowhere is this natural law of relationship more 
religiously honored than in the love which the good 
people of Pittsfield bear to tlieir beautiful town. 
But, waiving this claim, which is in its terms not 
biuiling upon a stranger, our town has a title to 
affectionate admiration, which not the most crabbed 
traveller ever yet desired to impeach. 

It is indeed a fair town ; and, standing in the cen- 
ter of that magniticeut panorama of hills which en- 
compasses the couuty of Berkshire, it is embosomed 
in beautv — in beautv, whose excess and overwhelm- 
ing profusion, in some of its broader and more compre- 
hensive presentations, often raise it to the level of the 
sublime. Branching from its central elm-shaded 
green, delightful avenues invite into the most pictur- 
esque regions. Through long vistas of elms, lindens 
and maples, you look longingly away to tree-flecked 
and grove-checkered hillsides, dappled also, it may be, 
•with passing cloud-shadows; to wooded mountain 
tops, the nearer brightly green, the more distant some- 
times dimlv, sometimes darklv, blue, as the fickle 
powers of the air may ordain. Over valleys lying 
in goldeuest sunshine, you look away to glens deepen- 
ing into mysterious gloom, and — yet beyond — to 



OUR TOWN. 11 

pastures, stretched at intervals along the topmost 
heights, upon whose bright verdure the sunlight 
lingers longest. Enchanted land, von will think 
those Hoosac pastures, when, after a summer shower, 
the rays of the setting sun suddenly burst "upon 
them, while they are overhung by such a rainbow as 
is possible only among the mountains; its glorious 
arch, gemlike in the living depths of its color, resting 
upon pillars of shadoAvy splendor which jSnd their 
bases among the foundations of the everlasting hills. 
Regions these, one would say, in which much of 
man's and much of nature's story must lie hid. 
Very enticing regions they are in truth; the whole 
broad landscape one grand volume of song and 
legend, bound in the most gorgeous green and gold. 
But, before we permit it to lure us away, I have a 
story or two to tell, which must be told right here, 
under this little cluster of elms; and nowhere else. 



\ ■ 



IL 

STORIES OF A TREE, AND OF ITS PRE- 
SERVERS. 

" Wise with tlie lore of centuries. 
What tales, if there wer^ tongues in trees, 
That giant Elm could tell I " 



■■*■♦♦ ^-*" 



You must liave heard of the old Elm of Pitts- 
field Park. It has its place of fame among The Trees 
of America; and has had this many a year. It is 
not long since it rose here, among the young green 
growth, the scarred and seared veteran of centuries. 
Straight into the air it sprang, one hundred and 
twenty-six feet; a tall grey pillar, bearing for sole 
capital a few green branches, and a few withered, 
shattered and bare limbs. From Grey lock to Monu- 
ment Mountain there was no inanimate thing so 
revered and venerable. Nor had it grown thus with- 
out a story, and one with which the stories of other, 
and human, lives were closely entwined. 

When it stood, a graceful sapling, in the forest, 
wherein as yet no white man had his habitation, the 
spot which is now our peaceful green, with a little 
neighboring territory, was an upland wood sur- 
rounded, except for a narrow space upon the north, 



STORIES OF A TREE. 13 

by impenetrable swamps: a most defensible camping 
ground; such as the red engineers knew well how to 
select. 

And here the St. Francois war parties, returning 
from their merciless raids into the valley of the 
Connecticut, were wont to bivouac, binding their 
way-worn and woe-worn captives to the lithe but 
firm-set young trees. Many a sorrowful sight must 
have been witnessed by that lone oasis among the 
hemlock thickets, but one tradition only speaks of 
individual suffering and adventure. 

Peril the First. 

Once — as this half forgotten old story goes — 
there came, among a group of captives, the daugh- 
ter of one of those God-fearing pastors who, rather 
than bow the knee to Baal and Archbishop Laud, 
forsook their quiet and comfortable livings in Old 
England to become the living springs of the New 
England churches. Fair with the light of " Sunny 
Devon by the sea," and graced by culture imbreathed 
with the odor of honeysuckles and roses in the old 
moss-covered rectory, Isabel Walton carried sun- 
shine, melody and joy into the bare log cabin pre- 
pared by the puritanic settlers for her widowed 
father, in their narrow forest clearing. 

But, one murderous night, torn from the dead 
body of that father, and spared by the caprice oi 
avarice of the savages, she was brought thus far on 
her way to Canada. Here, broken with grief and 
fatigue, she was doomed to death, as an encum- 



14 TAGHCONIC. 

brance to their inarch, and to death by lire. She 
was ah-eady bound to the sapling Elm, and the 
faggots piled about her feet, when, happily, the party 
was joined by a small detachment of French sol- 
diers under the command of a young lieutenant. 
Touched by the maidenly modesty, as well as by 
the brave and almost saintly bearing, of the victim, 
this officer interposed so vehemently that, partly by 
threats and partly by pledges of ransom, she was 
rescued; and with her the young Elm escaped its 
first peril at the hand of man. Supported with ten- 
der care and reverent regard by her manly preserver, 
Isabel reached Montreal in safety. And the garru- 
lous old tradition, after the absurd manner of such 
ancient chronicles, thinks it necessary to add that 
weak, captive, and bereaved, as she was, she did not 
find the long march altogether without its consola- 
tions, or indeed at all tedious. I preserve this ad- 
dendum solely for the benefit of elderly philosophers 
in search of psychological data. I am quite sure, at 
least, it will not be needed by any of my fair readers 
who ever passed an October day in Berkshire woods, 
rustling through the crisp carpet of many colored 
leaves, tumbling over criss-crossed and tangled roots, 
lunching sociably in sunny glades, climbing paths 
so arduous that the liberal support of strong arms 
was not to be dispensed with; and withal perform- 
ing feats which would have made their teacher of 
calisthenics open her pretty eyes very wide. 

And now I must tell you of one thing which I 
fear some of you will not so well like. But, ah me I 



STORIES OF A TREE. 15 

in any veracious narrative ixnpleasant facts will out. 
Naturally there came a time in their wooing when 
Pierre and Isabel spoke together of their difference 
in religious faith. This was certainly after their 
betrothal, but I think, the weight of evidence indi- 
cates that it was before their marriage; which the 
records of the cathedral church fix with great pre- 
cision at just one year after their arrival at Montreal. 
The anniversary is a holiday with their descendants 
even yet. But, whatever may have been the pre- 
cise time when the lovers ventured upon this deli- 
cate topic, it was not until Isabel had become so 
accustomed to yield to the persuasive tones of her 
preserver and guardian, that the protestant pastor's 
daughter forsook the faith for which her father 
suffered — for which she, as well, was ready to 
suffer — and adopted that in whose communion she 
could walk with her husband. Mightier than Laud's 
power of prelacy, or fiercest Torquemada persecu- 
tions, are the soft persuasions of love. I beseech 
you not to think too unf orgivingly of the young bride 
for this love-led back-sliding of hers. Rather than so, 
I could wish you to disbelieve the story outright; 
although that, besides being painful to my own feel- 
ings, would be deemed impolite by the whole long 
descended Lanaudiniere family of Montreal, whs 
would consider it little that their great-great-greal 
gi-andfather — be the degree of his grandfathership 
more or less — had rescued their grandmother in 
like degree, from the flames of savage torture, had 
he not also saved her from more enduring torments, 



"16 TAGHCONIC. 

Should you visit them — these ancient Lanaudi- 
nieres — in their ancient Montreal home, they will 
Bhow you, in a richly gilt frame, still more richly 
adorned with the precious tarnish of two hundred 
honorable years, the porti*ait of a young woman with 
very blue eyes very widely expanded; with very 
yellow hair, and plump cheeks, in which very red 
roses meet the very white, but very, very decidedly 
refuse to mingle, A silver crucifix, or it may be of 
ivory — envious time has here blurred the coloring a 
little — rests upon a very full and a very fully dis- 
played bosom; while the faint suspicion of a halo, 
half retiring into the obscure back-ground, as if 
doubtful of its right to be there, hovers above the 
yellow hair. 

You will guess this remarkable picture to be 
enlarged from a saintly feminine figure in the old 
family missal; the "specimen piece" perhaps, of 
some accom23lished Lanaudiniere damsel of an elder 
generation ; or possibly, a study by some artistic cadet 
of the house, turned monk. Lacking the corrective 
contemplation of living models, the imagination of 
the cloistered artists, in their lonely cells, was wont 
to play strange freaks with saintly personages of the 
gentler sex; not excepting her lovely majesty, the 
Queen of Heaven, herself. 

But your guesses will be all wrong; as my friends, 
the Lanaudinieres, will tell you, as politely as the cir- 
cumstances will admit. And they will add, with 
half offended pride, that this is the portrait of grand- 
mother Isabel; a gift to grandfather Pierre from a 



STOKIES OF A TEEB. 17- 

renowned Jesuit missionary, who painted it with his 
own pious hand, that the world might not lose the 
memory of the mu-acle of a New England Puritan 
converted to the old faith. Many a year of patient 
and fruitless labor among hundreds of that stiff 
necked race, " captivated " and brought to Canada, 
had taught the good father what a miracle that was. 
He believed that it was, and would be, unique. But 
you must remember that he was a celibate. 

This preposterous painting is prized beyond mea- 
sure by the present generation of Lanaudinieres, 
although, in their hearts, they know as well as I do, 
that it is not in the least like gentle grandma Isabel; 
save perhaps in the modest halo, which may indeed 
have glimmered above her golden hair, if saintly 
heads are ever crowned with such manifestations of 
Divine favor. 

The neighbors of the owners of this portrait — the 
Protestant neighbors I mean — maliciously aver that 
the last genuine likeness of their ancestress departed 
from the Dominion of Canada, when, after a cere- 
mony that was not performed cathedral-wise, another 
Isabel Lanaudinere sailed away, the bride of a young 
lieutenant-commander in Her Britannic Majesty's 
Sloop of War, The Whirligig — The Whirligig of 
Time, the Protestant wits of Montreal called it. It 
will be considerate in you when visiting these really 
excellent, but rather over-sensitive, people, to avoid 
all allusion to Her Majesty's naval service. I trust 
to your discretion, also not to repeat, what I mention 
in the strictest confidence, that their much prized 
Jesuitical portrait is but a sad caricature of features 



18 TAGHCONIC. 

even too delicate for perfect beauty; of eyes as 
guiltless of a stare as the violet's; of cheeks which, 
never round or rosy, paled more and more to her 
young dying day. 

Alas, not all the endearments of husband and 
children, not the fond affection of new friends, nor 
the charms of a new home, could altogether banish 
the memory of what had been in Old, and New, 
England. 

Meanwhile, troubled by no memories, the young 
Elm grew and flourished. Memory never troubles 
things of growth and living verdure. If it should 
seem to you that any of the woodland scenes to 
which I am leading you back, are " sicklied o'er" by 
any " melancholy cast" of that kind, be assured it is 
but a sickly fancy of your own. Take boldly with 
you those to whom you have loved to forecast their 
charms. They shall tell you, the hills of Taghconic 
are as green, the sheen of their lakes as sunny, the 
echoes of their valleys as joyous, as even you can 
have portrayed them. The woods remember little 
of last year's wild flowers — nothing at all of those 
which perished long ago. It is the stern old rock, 
wrinkled by the convulsions, hardened by the fires, 
and furrowed by the storms of infinite cycles, which 
forgets not the most gossamer-like veining of the 
slender fern which, in his far off youth, lay upon 
his bosom and faded there. 

But, unmindful even of the buried leaves which 
nourished its young life, the Elm, quivering with 
new joy in the new verdure of each new year, grew 
in beauty and in stature. 



STORIES OF A TREE. 19 

" How Straight it grows 1 " said the Mohegan 
maiden. 

" Straight as an arrow ! " echoed the young war- 
rior, himself almost as arrow-like. 

Peril the Second. 

But not the young Elm only, grew and exulted in 
the strength of its youth. The young common- 
wealth — the Province of Massachusetts Bay — also 
grew apace. And, by and by, some century and a 
quarter ago, the white man got himself sufficiently 
established in the Indian's Poontoosuck, to think of 
clearing the highways, which, many tumultuous 
years before, had been laid out very broad and 
straight; as the Great and General Court at Boston 
prescribed. 

Here was indeed danger for our Elm. On this much 
tyrannized globe, there is not another despot so ob- 
durate to every appeal for justice or mercy, as that 
enemy of the vested rights of nature in her own 
loveliness — the old-fashioned New England high- 
way surveyor: of whom too many yet remain, to 
cumber the earth, and scrunch out her delicate graces 
with their hobnailed heels. Witness a thousand 
turf-robbed, shade-bereft waj sides, whose dust this 
torrid summer shall rise up in judgment against 
these ruthless ravagers of their comeliness — these 
soulless deformers of the lawn-like knolls, which 
nature, with all her marvelous forces, had toiled for 
a myriad years to round into perfect grace. 

Remorseless rascals, they were, for the most part, 



fO TAGHOONIC. 

those old tyrants whose resistless scepter was that 
hideous relic of barbarism, the ox-goad: and to their 
most legitimate rule, our dear young Elm was as 
clearly subject as ever hapless ward to heartless 
Suzerain. Something savoring of the miraculous 
was needed to save it alive; and something very like 
a miracle happened. 

He to whom that cruel, proding scepter was first 
confided in the young plantation of Poontoosuc — 
so they called then, what is Pittsfield now — was a 
stout farmer from Wethersfield in Connecticut, who 
bad become lord of some thousands of acres scattered 
here and there among the green hills. Tradition has 
preserved a world of racy and romantic stories about 
him, which we mu^t not now stay for. In the 
Indian wars then just ended, he had been a stout 
soldier; and, afterwards, when the time for that 
came, he was as stout a patriot; bold alike to resist 
the encroachments of kingly power and the crude 
license of a newly enfranchised people. Honor, 
always, to his memory for these things; but, here 
and now, chiefly that, one summer day — doubtless 
one of those perfect June days, which still come in 
Berkshire, bringing all that is best in a man to the 
surface — with that sweet summer day softening the 
harshness of his rude work, he saw reverently, what 
in those forest-hating years, it required a rare eye to 
see, even with the aid of the most heavenly light, 
that God had made this tree passing fair; a thing to 
be loved and honored of many generations, and not 
to be rooted up like a pestilent weed. 



STOBIES OF A TEEE. 21 

Shall we praise such a man as this under a pseu- 
donym ? Leave him a mere backwoods nominis 
umbra — an unsubstantial ghost of a name; to 
wander, as dimly remembered, in the dim shades of 
forgotten forests ? I trow, not we ! Honor then to 
the name of Captain Charles Goodrich ! 

As was fitting, he had honor; had it for many a 
year after that genial June day when he saved the 
Elm alive; until, well nigh a century old, he died, 
and was borne under its shadow to his neighboring 
grave. But long before that, the tree had met its 

Peril the Third. 

From which, to use the pious phraseology of that 
day. Providence again raised up for it a worthy pre- 
server. 

In that grand year, 1775, the most soul-stirring in 
all Massachusetts story, a gallant and spirited youth 
was enrolled, among the students of Harvard college, 
as John Chandler Williams; a name indicating his 
kinship with two families of considerable standing 
in the scale of the Provincial gentry. Any quiet 
study was at that time sadly unattainable in the 
classic shades on the banks of the Charles; but the 
young gentlemen were not, on that account, neces- 
sarily idle. In fact, several of them were notably 
busy, one well remembered April day; having found 
occupation with some, thenceforward world-re- 
nowned, farmers. 

Young Williams was among them; and must in 
some way have distinguished himself; for, not many 



22 TAGHCONIC. 

days after, be Tras summoned to the Provincial 
Congress, then in session at Cambridge; by whom 
he was as speedily dispatched, with a single com- 
panion, upon a secret and delicate mission; every 
friend of the liberties of the Province being officially 
enjoined to help him on. This mission was no less 
than to secure the correspondence of Governor 
Hutchinson with the enemies of those liberties on 
both sides the Atlantic. 

These important documents, having been left with 
singular carelesness in Hutchinson's country-house at 
Milton Hill, it required only a rapid and secret 
movement to secure them; and they revealed all His 
Excellency's secrets, about which the congressmen 
had so lively a curiosity. 

The congressmen were delighted; thanked their 
messenger warmly; voted him the liberal and precise 
sum of £4. 4s. 6d.; and then probably thought no 
more of him. But he, poor fellow, had brought to 
light other, and more, revelations than he looked for ; 
as you shall see. 

Student-wise, John Chandler loved his cousin; a 
fair and stately cousin, who was daughter to a 
grand and stately old father. Now this father — 
Colonel Israel Williams of Hatfield, once a famous 
commander of the Indian-fighting militia on the 
Western Border, and afterwards Chief Justice of the 
Common Pleas for the old county of Hampshire — 
had, before the open rupture with the King's Go- 
vernor, and indeed afterwards, been one of the few 
friends of Parliament in the General Court. None 



STORIES OF A TREE. 23 

of the acts of government which had surrouuded 
him with a population of enraged and rebellious 
Whigs, Jiad served to shake his own loyalty to the 
British crown; so that, in the year previous to his 
kinsman's exploit at Milton Hill, Governor Gage ap- 
pointed him one of his thirty-six councillors. Man- 
damus councillors, they were called, being created 
by the Royal writ, and not elected by the Represent- 
atives of the people, as was the old charter privilege. 
Thus, nothing was more hateful to the patriots than 
a 3Iandanius councillor. Resolved that their vene- 
rable judge should not become this odious thing, 
they — as a mild form of persuasion — shut him up in 
a small school house, closed the windows, built a 
huge pitch-pine fire in the ample fire-place, and then 
blocked the chimney-top. The judge, although a 
bi'ave, and withal an obstinate man, succumbed — 
as who would not ? — and signed a renunciation of his 
office, with whatever other pledges his tormentors 
saw fit to dictate. 

There were a good many hesitating persons made 
excellent AVhigs by processes like this. But Judge 
Williams was not a hesitating person; and, having 
settled it in his judicial mind that pledges made 
under duress were not binding, he, like a prudent 
judge, reserved his decision, and went on his way. 
but covertly, the same old servant of King George. 
Trumbull has commemorated his pertinacity in his 
queer old Hudibrastic, " McFingal," where he makes 
that hero taunt his persecutox's with the futility of 
their methods: 



24 TAGHCONIC. 

" Have you made Murray look less big, 
Or smoked old Williams to a Whig ? 
Did our mobb'd Oliver quit bis station, 
Or heed his vows of resignation ?" 

Hutchinson's unfortunate letter-book rendered 
Judge "Williams's prudence of no avail, and made it 
apparent that he had furnished the royal governor 
with the most dangerous information, and, still 
worse, had urged the severest measures against the 
unruly provincials. 

The Whigs can hardly be blamed that, upon this 
discovery, they threw him — even him, one of the 
" River gods" of the Connecticut — into Northamp- 
ton jail. It is what follows, that shows us how even 
zealous patriots, and possibly, although that is not 
fully established, gallant soldiers, may come short 
of being in the least chivalric gentlemen, or even 
passable Christians. The jails of a century ago 
were miserable places at the best: not at all like the 
comfortable structures in which modern criminals 
recruit their exhausted energies, and take lessons of 
infinite value in their after-rascal-life. The most 
favored prisoner could not congratulate himself on a 
prolonged residence in the Northampton jail of 1775 ; 
and Judge Williams was not a favored prisoner. 

We might forgive that, too, remembering the fate 
which he had contemplated as fitting for his jailors. 
In our distant, latter-day view, it would no doubt 
have been well had his venerable years and many 
services to his people softened resentment a little; 
nay, even turned aside a little the severity which the 



STORIES OF A TREE. 26 

safety of the country seemed to require against those 
whose loyalty was not towards her. But we will 
not complain that the rigors which he would have 
visited upon others, recoiled upon his own head. 
The something which will not be forgiven while the 
story lives, lies beyond that also. 

Wis fair and stately daughter, for all her beauty 
and all her stateliness, was as loyal to her father as 
he to his king. Proud, brilliant, and with a wit 
which could be grandly used in wrath when the oc- 
casion demanded wrath, towards him she was gently 
and devotedly affectionate as only a strong warm- 
hearted woman can be. With her Roman name — . 
have I said that she was called, Lucretia ? — she had 
some noble qualities of the Roman dames. 

Daily, after the incarceration of her father, this 
noble and beautiful girl visited him in prison and 
ministered to his wants. And daily, as she passed 
to and from his place of confinement, she was sub- 
jected to taunts, and insulting threats against him 
she loved so well, from the baser fellows who, either 
in official positions or as loiterers, hung about the 
jail. The favorite councillor of the renegade Gov- 
ernor Hutchinson, and the chief Tory of Western 
Massachusetts, could not have looked for extraordi- 
nary leniency from the exasperated partizans who 
held him in their power; but Northampton was the 
home of Hawley and other of the more high-bred 
and courtly leaders of the people, who could hardly 
have known and sanctioned the unmanly treatment 
to which those who had such claims upon their 
3 



•Jo TAGHCOXIC. 

coin-tesy as the Tory cliief aud his daughter, were 
subjected. 1 believe that, after awhile, they did 
interfere. The judge was liberated; and, under the 
surveillance of some local R^volutiouarv eouiniittee, 
was permitted to live, with such comfort as in that 
way he could, until the close of the war; and after- 
wards, for some yeai-s, in peace and freedom. 

In the western coimties it was too much the ctis- 
tom to leave the *' handling of the Tories," — as 
proceedings against the loyalists were quaintly 
called, to violent partisans, who, well knowing that 
the powers above would nerer finally consent to ex- 
treme punishments, were accustomed to provide for 
their prisonei"s a little purgatory, by placing them in 
the custody of coarse and vindictive jailers, who 
weiv glad to undertake the ungracious task in order 
to gratify some ancient pique — as often of a private 
as of a public origin. It was not alone in Revolu- 
tionary France that, under the cloak of patriotic 
zeal, vulgar envy sought, in its coarse way, to humi- 
liate those who had been its social superioi-s, and low 
crime to avenge itself of its high-born judges. 

What was the exact nature of the insults heaped 
upon the proud Judge AVilliams and his prouder 
daughter in Xortliampton jail, we can only con- 
jecture. Whatever was their character, the latter 
curbed her resentment for the time, for her father's 
safety, but it never ceased to rankle in her heart. 
To her the name of Whig w:vs .*ilways hateful; the 
glorious Revolution was always the " Rebellion," .nnd 
the theme of her bitterest wit; and, to her life's end. 



STORIES OF A TREE. 27 

she proclaimed herself the loyal subject of whatever 
"Sacred Majesty " filled the throne of Great Britain. 

How, in this temper, she arranged matters with 
the lover kinsman who had so large a share in 
bringing about her family .misfortunes, the parties 
interested discreetly kept to themselves: as I had oc- 
casion to remark, a few pages back, love has his own 
way out of all perplexities. But we hear of no more 
patriotic exploits recklessly performed by the young 
John Chandler, who went sedately back to college; 
s:raduated with hio-h honors in 17TS; stxidied law with 
the Honorable, and very conservative — John "Worth- 
ington at Springfield; and, in due time — himself 
became a conservative counsellor, and Federal poli- 
tician at rittsfield. — And yet the spirit which led 
him to Lexington and Milton Hill was not quenched; 
years afterwards, among his fellows of the bar, he 
was still " Mad Chandler, the Wild." 

The offended, biit tender-hearted, Lucretia, of all 
the Avorld, understood perfectly the nature of the 
change which had come over the young man; and 
she must have considered it as meeting her at least 
half way. At any rate, they commenced married 
life, about the year 17 S3, in the fine old gambrel 
roofed mansion — then fresh from the hands of the 
cai-penters — which you still see among the Elms, 
across the park; still in all its pristine dignity. And 
there they lived, happy and prosperous; there died 
honored and lamented by all around them, notwith- 
standing the lady's political idiosyncrasy. 

If you ask, " what has all this to do with the perils 
of The Old Elm ? " I answer, " Much every way." 



28 TAGUCONIC. 

You will infer with me that such a woman as 
Lucrotia Williams would love bravely where she 
lovoil warmly, even though the object of her affec- 
tions were but a rock or a tree. She was indeed a 
true lover of the beautiful in nature ; and its un- 
daunted defender, as well, against all the evil fashions 
of her day. To her we owe yonder cathedral-like 
colonnade of elms, with whose long succession of 
gothic arches she surrounded her home; first reso- 
lutely levelling the poplar grenadiers, whose stiff 
plumes, being of the latest importation, were a-la- 
mode for all courtly court-yards. Perhaps they re- 
minded her unpleasantly of militia sentinels pacing 
around Northampton jail. 

For seven long years, however, she consoled her- 
self, for looking through these objectionable bundles 
of lank twigs, by the luxuriant foliage and graceful 
form of the fair elm on the green beyond. She had 
learned to love it well; and the better after Captain 
Goodrich — a frequent and congenial visitor at the 
conservative AVilliams fireside — had told her some- 
thing of its story. Then, in the seventh year — or, 
to be precise, Anno Domini, 1790 — came the Elm's 
Third Peril. 

The town had hitherto worshiped in a little brown 
meeting house, rich in grand memories, but poor as 
it well could be in every other. resi)ect. No av they 
resolved to build anew, in splendor commensurate 
with their increased wealth and larQ;er fio-ure in the 
world's eye. A famous Boston architect — one 
Colonel Bulfinch — furnished a most ornate design 



STORIES OF A TREE. 29 

evidently suggested by Faneuil Hall, but intended 
to eclipse that renowned edifice: and, after the man- 
ner of his craft, sent a superbly colored representa- 
tion of it, with a profusion of scrolls, brackets, 
pillars, arches and what not, which at the sugges- 
tion of Dame Prudence were largely omitted in the 
completed structure. 

When this astonishing " design " was handed 
around among the congregation at the next Sabbath 
nooning, the admiration was so intense that there 
was danger lest, as in some modern instances, the new 
building would become a House of Worship in an 
equivocal sense. But the immediate, the " imminent 
deadly," peril was to the Elm. There was then 
around it neither park nor public square — nothing 
but a little grass plot, kept from the public travel 
in the broad street by immemorial custom. On the 
outer edge of this green, and well into the legal 
highway, by the grace of God inspiring Captain 
Goodrich, the Elm still kept its place, with the little 
old meeting-house almost, or quite, under the shade 
of its spreading branches. It was intended to place 
the new building upon the site of the old; but, with 
the excitement created by its architectural promise, 
came a desire for a more conspicuous location. 

A large share of the more resplendent glories of 
the proposed edifice were concentrated in the tower 
and belfry; and these, it was discovered, would de- 
light a majority of the citizens when on their way 
to church or market, if only they were thrust a few 
feet into the highway. True, this would mar the 



80 TAGHconc, 

fair proportions prescribed for the street by the 
esthetic old legislators at Boston, and, what at this 
distance seems quite as bad, would involve the de- 
struction of the Elm. But, then, incontestibly, the 
street would still be wide enough for all the purposes 
of travel; and were there not innumerable ebns in 
the near forest '? "We have lately cut off the superb 
vista of the s;une street by an ugly brick railway 
station house; and it will hardly do to call that 
vandalism in the fathers which must be taste and 
culture in the sons. At any rate, whatever we may 
call it, the people, in town meeting assembled, de- 
termined to make the sacrifice; although not without 
stout opposition from Captain Goodrich, " Squire"' 
"Williams, and others who held God's beautiful crea- 
tions to be esteemed beyond man's fairest handi- 
work. If the Elm's indwelling dryad had not before 
been exorcised by the pniyers or frightened away 
by what passed for music in the old church, she 
must have shuddered in the deepest recesses of its 
tnmk, at the horrid speeches and resolutions of 
that town meeting. 

In the "Williams mansion there was grief, con- 
sternation, lamentation, indignation; and then a 
determined purpose to resist the barbarous edict, so 
far at least as it concerned the Elm. Madam 
Williams did not melodiously request the woodmen 
to spare her favorite tree; partly, perhaps, because 
there was no ballad to that effect in her rr/xWoirs / 
but chiefly, no doubt, that such was not the lady^s 
manner of aidincr her friends in their extreme dis- 



STORIES OF A TREE. 31 

tress. It is of tradition tliat once in her girlhood she 
threw herself, with triumphant daring, between her 
father and a raging mob of exasperated Wbigs. 
The story is not verified beyond historical doubt, 
but it is likeJy enough to be true. By a resort to 
similar feminine tactics, she certainly saved the Elm ; 
placing herself resolutely before it when the ax men 
came to perform their fell task- 
Here was a curiously sad dilemma for tbe puzzled 
executors of the town's wicked will. Had almost 
any other woman thus stood in the path of municipal 
wrong-doing, she would have been thrust aside with 
small ceremony; if not with a sharp threat of some 
of those ingenious and highly civilized punishments 
contrived by the keen-witted New England fathers, 
lest the impulsive sex should rush madly from their 
sphere. 

But with a lawyer's spouse it was quite another 
matter; that is, if man and wife were in perfect ac- 
cord, as the TTilliamses were to a proverb. In those 
superstitious days, a gentleman of the green bag was 
held a most xmcanny person to deal with at odds. 
It was grewsome to think what dread processes he 
might evoke from the mystic depths of that weird 
receptacle of the law^s imperious dicta and s^crfpta / 
or from the still more occnlt and awful recesses, 
where he sat, among massive and inscrutable tomes, 
well known by their potent words to have charmed 
many a man out of a fair estate, and into a foul jaU. 
Not that Sqtiire Williams was known ever to have 
wrongfully used his abstruse learning. On the con 



32 TAGHCONIC. 

trary he was counted a rather benevolent sort of 
dealer in the law's black art ; given to the defense of 
the poor, the protection of the widow and the father- 
less, and to bringing the counsel of the wicked to 
naught : still there was no telling what latent fiend- 
ishness might be developed even in so benevolent a 
wizard; for was he not an attorney after all '? 

There were therefore none to lay violent hands 
upon Madam "Williams, even with the town's most 
puissant warrant. Nay, even the Selectmen felt that 
a dreadful weight was lifted from their mighty 
breasts, when they found that the Squire would take 
only a generous advantage of their ludicrous pre- 
dicament. 

As I have said, there was, around the Elm, no 
green or public square, such as adorned a few of the 
more aspix'ing villages of the Commonwealth; but a 
vision of such a glory had danced before the eyes 
of some of the more ambitious citizens; and especially 
dazzled the not inconsiderable number who held com- 
missions in the militia, and already in imagination 
saw themselves resplendent \ipon a parade ground 
worthy of their most gorgeous array. The un- 
sophisticated chieftains would have stared at the 
suiTsxestion of coping and curbing it into an out-of- 
door parlor. 

"Ml-. "Williams shrewdly seized the opportunity to 
offer for a village green, so much of his land south 
of the Elm, as the town would devote to the same 
purpose from their domain on the north, used for a 
meeting-house site and burial ground. Under tlicse 



STORIES OF A TREE. 33 

conditions, it would be hard to guess how far the 
new church would have receded, had not a great 
part of the burial-ground been already well tilled 
with graves. The old puritanic folk held it idle, or 
worse, to consecrate their couieterics; nor did they 
cover them with conservatories, or convert them into 
driving parks. I fancy they would have eschewed 
the word, cemetery, as savoring of paganism. But 
they held sacred so much at least of the dust in their 
plain grave-yards as had once been animated by 
living spirits; and they shrunk from making money, 
or saving it, by secularizing the soil with which the 
ashes of their dead were inseparably mingled. So 
they were fain to content themselves, in this instance, 
with a village-green of moderate dimensions. 

It chiefly concerns us, however, that, by the 
bravery of Madam Williams and the timely gene- 
rosity of her husband, the Elm was again saved. 

And now the love of the people began to go out 
more and more towards it. Fond associations 
clustei'ed faster and faster around it; growing more 
tender, and gaining a richer flavor with age — as 
may always be expected of such luxuries, as well as 
of others of a less sentimental caste. Children pur- 
sued their noisy sports under the tree's expanding 
shade, pausing often to form fabulous estimates of 
its size and centuries; which, for the most part, 
their later vears never found time to revise. In the 
near academy, the village boys and girls played 
their pretty prelude to life's drama. Here were the 
athletic games whose best remembered feat — en- 



84 TAGHCONIC. 

titling the youth wlio performed it to a place in the 
town's little Valhalla — was to hurl a ball over the 
Elm's loftiest branch. Here lovers lingered a pre- 
cious moment in their moonlight walks. Here were 
the Fourth of July celebrations, the cattle shows, 
and all the country gala-days which bring boyhood 
back to the most prosaic citizen who has a heart in 
him; even if it glow only at these long intervals — ■ 
as some fanciful people aver that comets periodically 
revisit the sun to replenish their stock of " caloric," 
wasted by measureless wanderings in coldest space. 
And, while the noble tree was thus sending its roots 
deep down into the hearts of the town's-people, it 
was also growing up to fame; for travelers celebrated 
it in their books, and poets in their verse. 

And thus it came about that when any " to 
the manor born" went out into the great world 
beyond the mountains, the Old Elm was the center 
• around which clustered all their memories of home; 
and when any stranger visited the village, it was the 
first object of his search — unless, as was most likely, 
it had been the first to greet his approach. 

Doom. 

But, escaping all peril, to trees as to men, comes 
at last that which is not danger, but doom. And, 
as with man, so with the tree to whose mortality the 
sacred writers so often liken our own, the life which 
aspires the most loftily best chances to meet a noble 
death. It so happened with our Elm. A thunder- 
bolt fell crashingly upon it, and darting straight 



STORIES OF A TREE. 35 

down its tall trunk, ploughed a wound of ghastly- 
whiteness from stricken bough to seared root. The 
fiery fluid dried up the juices in its old veins, and 
the whole tree, although cared for with almost filial 
tenderness, began slowly to perish. But, even in 
its death it was fortunate. The long white streak 
pencilled by the scathing lightning in its smooth 
bark, caught the eye of Herman Melville, who, in 
his wonderful story of "The White Whale," thus 
interwove it in his strong-lined portrait of Captain 
Ahab: 

"Threading its way out from among his grey 
hairs, and continuing straight down one side his 
tawney scorched face and neck until it disappeared 
in his clothing, you saw a slender, rod-like mark, 
lividly whitish. It resembled that perpendicular 
seam sometimes made in the straight, lofty trunk of 
a great tree, when the upper lightning tearingly darts 
down it, and without wrenching a single twig, peals 
and grooves out the bark, from top to bottom, ere, 
running off into the soil, leaving the tree still greenly 
alive, but branded." 

There you have a graphic picture of the old Elm 
in its decay. And thus in its death-stroke, it found 
a new life: as the ancients fabled that they who 
were slain by Jove's thunderbolts thereby became 
immortal. 

The brave old tree had clearly received his death 
wound, and remained " greenly alive" but for a 
space, and only as to a few scanty boughs. Still, 
grandly wearing this meager coronal, and erect as 



36 TAGHCOSIC. 

when thje Indian maiden likened it to her warrior 
lover, it looked as if proudly conscious of the vene- 
ration which it inspired; as I have seen some white- 
haired citizen walking beneath it, in a vigorous old 
age, full of the memories of a gracious youth and a 
beneficent manhood. And, each spring when the 
young grove about it began to put forth its buds, 
the question, " Will the old Elm survive this year 
also ? " was anxiously asked by a whole people 
whose love for it in its grand decrepitude and decay 
exceeded even that of Lucretia Williams for its 
leafy prime. 

Twice again it " midway met the lightnings," and 
then, one summer morning, the whisper passed along 
the street that the Elm was bending to its fall. 

The axe — in kindness now — gently aided its slow 
descent, until in the afternoon it lay prostrate; while 
men whom the world does not accuse of immoderate 
sentimentality, stood aloof, literally weeping; and 
the more mercurial crowd rushed eagerly to secure a 
chip, a leaf, a twig, a branch — any relic of their 
old friend. Soon wherever they who had held it 
in reverence were scattered abroad, bits of its wood 
set in gold, appeared among their richest jewels ; or, 
in less costly guise, were treasured in the most sacred 
reliquaries of their thousand homes. 

And, lo, when the tree's inmost heart was laid 
open, there preserved, were found the tokens of its 
earliest perils and, pervading its whole tissue, the 
unbroken memories of all its summers, and all that 
they had done for it. Said I that the woods remem- 
ber nothing ? 



STORIES OF A TREE. 37 

THE QKEY OLD ELM OF PITTSFIELD PARK. 

Tell us a tale, thou grey old tiLe, 

A tale of thy leafy prime ; 
For thine was a home in the forest, free, 

Ere our bold forefathers' time. 
Thou savvest the wild-wood all alight 

With the bale-fire's direful glare, 
"Where now the murkiest gloom of night. 

Our household fires make fair. 

Then tell us a tale, thou grey old tree, 

A tale of thy leafy prime, 
Of the wild-eyed red man roaming free, 

Or our fathers' deeds sublime ! 

Say, when the gorgeous laurel flowers 

And sweet-b-riar's bloom were gay 
■ If here, in the forest's fragrant hours, 

Some dusky loves would stray ! 
Sadly, we know, the captive's sigh 

With thy murmuring sound was blent : 
Oh tell of the love and the courage high 

That the captive's bondage rent. 

Ay, tell us a tale, thou grey old tree, 

A tale of thy leafy prime. 
Of the wild-eyed red man roaming free, 

Or our fathers' deeds sublime! 

Tell us the tale how the forest fell 

And the graceful spire arose ; 
And, charmed by the holy pealing bell, 

How the valley found repose. 
Our heritage here, with the blow and prayer, 

Was won by the good and brave. 
While over their toils, like a banner in air, 

They saw thy branches wave. 
4 



88 TAGHCONIC. 

Then tell us a tale, tliou grey old tree, 
A tale of tby leafy prime, 

Of the wild-eyed red man roaming free. 
Or our fathers' deeds sublime I 

Ah, dearly we love thy wasting form. 

Thou pride of our stern old sires, 
Though torn by the rage of the darting storm. 

And the lightning's scathing fires ; 
And dearly the sons of the mountain vale 

Wherever their exile be, 
Will thrill as they list to the song or tale 

If it speak of their home or thee I 

Then tell us a tale, thou grey old tree, 
A tale of thy leafy prime. 

Of the wild-eyed red man roaming free. 
Or our fathers' deeds sublime I 



il 



m. 

ANOTHER STORY. 



What camb of, aito to, Chandler Williams's 
Village Green. 

" For the soldier's trade, verily and essentially, is not slay- 
ing, but being slain. This, without well knowing its own 
meaning, the world honors it for. A bravo's trade is slaying; 
but the world has never respected bravos more than merchants ; 
the reason it honors the soldier is because he holds his life at 
the service of the state. Reckless he may be — fond of 
pleasure or adventure All kinds of bye-motives and mean 
motives may have determined his choice of a profession, and 
may affect (to all appearai^ce exclusively) his conduct in it ; 
but our estimate of him is based on this ultimate fact — of 
which we are wel 1 assured — that, put him in a fortress breach, 
with all the pleasures of the world behind him, and only 
death and his duty before him, he will keep his face to the 
front ; and he knows that this choice may be put to him at 
auy moment, and has before hand taken his part — virtually 
takes such part continually; does in reality die daily." — 
Ruskin. 

And, of the spot whereon the Old Elm once stood, 
what ? Other stories, and grander than the simple 
tales, I have ventured to tell, early ennobled it; but 
must nevertheless have the briefest narration here. 

Near yonder very prosaic brick corner, bounding 



40 TAGHCO'IC. 

one of the most park-like, and least prosaic of streets, 
stood, a hundred years ago, the quaint old ganibrel- 
roofed tavern of Colonel James East on; the com- 
mander of the Berkshire !Militia, and Ethan Allen's 
lieutenant in the capture of Ticonderoga. And, to 
its hospitable door, late on the dai-k and rainy evening 
of May-day, 1 7 75, came Capt;un Edward Alott and 
his little band of sixteen Connet^ticut men, stoutly 
resolved, by the Grace of God, and with the help 
assured them among the Green Mountains, to wrest 
" the Key of Xorth America *' from the grasp of 
Great Britain. At midnight in the most secret 
chamber of the old inn, although the bar-room had 
long been emptied of its tonguey revellers — while 
the great raindrops dashed and spattered against the 
pigmy window-panes, and a generous tankard of 
aiomatic pimch steamed before each wet and wearied 
guest — the Connecticut leadei-s held council with 
five or six bold and true men of the vicinage; among 
them their host, and his neisjhbor, Ensis^fn — after- 
war^ls Colonel — John Brown ; a member of the Pi'o- 
Tincial Congress, who, being specially charged by 
that body with efforts for the acquisition of Canada, 
was the projector of this present expedition, as well 
as of many another daring adventuie afterward. 

Before dawn, not to endanoer the secresv of their 
plans by adding to their company here, Easton and 
Mott crossed the Taghconic ridge, and passing up 
the secluded and romantic valley of Hancock (it 
will well repay you to do the same, even with a much 
less stirring errand) they were joined by twenty- 



THE VILLAGE GEKEN. 41 

four stalwart minutemen, withCapt. Asa Douglas — 
a " Douglas, trusty and true " — at their head. In 
the meanwhile, Ensign Brown and the remainder of 
the party, starting also under cover of the darkness, 
drove up the Berkshire . valley to Williamstown, 
where they were joined by fifteen other bold and 
trusty yeomen. Then all began their march to join 
Ethan Allen and the Green Mountain Boys. All the 
world knows how that march ended. The spot where 
the men of Massachusetts and Connecticut first met 
in council concei'ning it, in the home of one of the 
earliest, the bravest, and the truest of Revolutionary 
patriots, should be held as sacredly memorable as 
those resting places in old, renowned pilgrimages 
which royal piety marked with monumental crosses. 

And, on yonder other corner, where, among ances- 
tral trees, a massive mansion marks the site, stood the 
modest dwelling in which lived and died the Parson 
of Bennington Field. In the little brown meeting- 
house under the branches of the Elm, year in and 
year out, he preached that the Gospel of Liberty 
was part of the Gospel of Christ; and much fruit 
came of it : sweet and bitter, but for the most part 
wholesome. Potent to-day beyond much which 
struggles visibly — and all too audibly — for power, 
his spirit still lives and walks abroad among these 
hills: and not here only, but far away in ever-ex- 
tending paths. 

A hundred years ago the pulpit of the little meet- 
ing house was indeed the seat of power; so that 
when the patriot soldiers gathered on the narrow 



42 TA0iHCO>aC. 

green before its dooi', it seemed as if their hearts 
had been verily touched with a live coal from its 
altar. And, from this holy rallying place, inspired 
anew by solemn prayer and fervent exhortation, 
they marched away to Canada, Bennington, Sara- 
toga, Stone- Arabia, or wherever else Berkshire blood 
flowed for freedom. 

Where they thus assembled, the national inde- 
pendence which they helped to achieve had been com- 
memorated, with rural, but not unmeaning, pomp, 
for well nigh a hundred years, when treason as- 
sailed the nation's life. Then, on the same spot 
where the fathers met to consecrate their lives to 
the service of their country, the sons assembled for 
the same holy purpose. Even while the tall Elm 
still waved its branches — a tattered banner — above 
them, the minute-men of 1861 responded to the first 
note of alarm as eagerly and promptly as the 
minute-men of 1775 sprang to arms when the 
reveille, beaten by drums as far away as Lexington 
Common, announced the dawning of the Revolu- 
tion. 

The old tree fell: but, year after year, often and 
often, the peal of other than chtirch-going bells, and 
other music than that of the organ and the choir, 
deepened the solemnity of the Sabbath, and sum- 
moned the people to high conference in the young 
grove which succeeded to its honors. How vivid is 
the memory; yet how distant seem those strangely 
awful Sabbaths, and those anxious nights when the 
lurid glare of torches fitfully lit up the over-hang- 



THE VILLAGE GREEN. 43 

ing foliage and the endangered flag, while eloquent 
voices from some rude rostrum, told the danger of 
the hour to those whose souls were already heavy 
with the consciousness of it. 

At hours like these, or when, at busy noon, the 
clangor of bells and trumpets hushed the more sordid 
sounds of trade and traffic, what new and conflict- 
ing emotions struggled in every breast, as those most 
full of life and life's longings were adjured to risk 
all in the defence of that which was dearer than all. 
Duty, religion, a pure patriotism, a noble ambition ; 
how fervently each was urged in its turn. What 
promises of life-long honor, and tender regard, to be 
shared by none — what prophecies of enduring fame, 
glowed upon the lips of tlie orators ! And, ever 
and anon, as the young and faithful-hearted — glori- 
fying the plain tables at which they sat into sacredest 
altars — enrolled themselves in the Grand Army of 
the Nation's Defenders, how the ringing plaudits, 
bursting from the full hearts of the people, seemed 
borne by the rolling echoes of drums far into the 
promised future. 

What other memories, in the lives of any of us 
who did not share in the actual conflict of arms, can 
compare in grandeur, with the recollection of those 
sublime moments; and of others, intermingled with 
them, when regiment after regiment with sad, but 
proudly unregretful, farewells — and not without 
solemn prayer and fervent exhortation, as of old, 
from reverend lips — marched hence to do or to suffer 
that for which they had set themselves apart ? 



44 TAGHCONIC. 

Then, whatever gloom might overhang the hour, 
"we knew that the old heroic spirit, which, in the 
foolishness of our hearts, we had thought passed 
away forever, had come again in all its fullness; 
and that the old triumph was assured. 

Here and there a taint of mean ambition, or 
meaner avarice, you may have detected in those who 
received these plaudits, although I hope that you 
were better minded than to be seeking for it. An 
army of purely unselfish men, marching in any array, 
were conceivable only in an age which shall be free 
of all armies; in that, namely, when nations "shall 
beat their swords into plough shares, and their spears 
into pruning hooks." 

For this present, be content that, as to all who 
enrolled themselves, and — with whatever ulterior 
reward in view — did become actual soldiers, we 
come, at least, if to nothing better, to Mr. Ruskin's 
" ultimate fact " of the soldier's soldierly fidelity to 
the state under whose flag he has enlisted. 

But, on the other hand, in how many did you dis- 
cover a purity of purpose and of soul, a stern sub- 
jection of self to duty, an unboastful heroism so 
unlooked for, an intellectual strength in quarters so 
unsuspected, that they seemed like a new and sudden 
inspiration from Heaven. So illy do we read that 
which lies behind the eyes into which we daily look. 
Nay, the revelation vouchsafed to our great need, 
seems in these less exalted days so incomprehensible 
that we are fast losing it in clouds and doubt. 

Yet surely such men were — and are — and they 



THE VILLAGE GREEN. 45 

did in verity shed a luster upon our arms beyond 
that of conquest. They did exist; enough of them 
in almost every New England village, to ennoble its 
name — if their story could but be worthily told. 

Their ideal, but deeply truthful, type, wrought in 
enduring bronze, surmounts yonder monument, the 
memorial of those who marched hence, to sacrifice 
their young lives in the defence of their country. I 
pray you mark that statue well: it is no common 
work; but the tribute of genius, to heroism, patriotic 
devotion, and much else. It represents simply a 
color-sergeant of the Union army, standing in line- 
of -battle, and looking eagerly and thoughtfully into 
the distance. The figure is erect, but slightly sup- 
ported by the staff of the colors, which it grasps 
with both hands — the right also gathering the flag 
into graceful folds. The work is correct in detail 
as well as truthful in its grand effect; but these are 
its minor and prosaic merits; there is more in it than 
these. Both face and figui'e are of a peculiar military 
type — as unique and readily recognized as that of 
the French Zouave or the Cossack trooper — which 
the war for the Union developed from material which 
it found rough-moulded in every Northern village. 
You will see, as you study his work, that the 
sculptor's ideal was a bold, frank, generous man; 
resolute rather than defiant, of valor without ferocity, 
of gentle heart, without weakness; self-reliant, but 
modest; capable of either commanding or obeying; 
looking into the future as well as the distance; a 
man with such stuff in him as poets and orators and 
statesmen, as well as conquering soldiers, are made of. 



46 TAGHCONIC. 

They dedicated this memorial one genial Septem- 
ber day, with much memorable eloquence, and much 
military and other pomp, of which I will only here 
recall, that, among those who had large part in it by 
word or work, was he 

" As Galahad pure, as Merlin sage ; 
What worthier knight was found 
To grace in Arthur's golden age 
The fabled Table, round? 

A voice, the battle's trumpet note, 

To welcome and restore ; 
A hand that all unwilling smote. 

To heal and build once more. 

A soul of fire, a tender heart 

Too warm for hate, he knew 
The generous victor's graceful part. 

To sheath the sword, he drew. 

The more than Sidney of our day, 

Above the sin and wrong 
Of civil strife, he heard alway 

The angel's advent song." 

Ulm^ I may single out, not invidiously, from those 
who on that September day joined in consecrating 
this monument to its hallowed purposes; for, even 
while mingling his monitions to his surviving com- 
rades, with laudations for the dead, his enfeebled 
frame prophecied but too truly that his life, too, 
would soon be added to the great price of the na- 
tion's unity. 

Biit you are restless, that I detain you so long 
upon this contracted spot; and we will leave it; 
taking with us, however, as I hope, this lesson; that 



THE TILLAGE GREEN, 47 

he who, like Captain Goodrich and Chandler Wil- 
liams, graciously preserves a tiling of mere grace 
and beauty, may well expect that, in due time, much 
of the grandly and nobly useful — nay, much of 
sublime human action — may cluster around it, and 
mingle their memories with his own. 



IV. 

REMINISCENT. 



The memory of great men is the noblest inheritance of their 
country. — Blackwood's Mag. 

You have been very patient with me — have you 
not ? — in my long-time weakness of lingering by this 
old park; and perhaps I ought to reward you with 
an excursion to the lake-side or mountain-top. But 
I pray you to be patient yet a little w'hile, as we take 
a walk among the pretty village houses, with their 
luxuriant gardens, and court yards green with 
shrubbery — a delightful summer promenade. To 
the towns-people the older of these dwellings are all 
pregnant with associations of the past; each has its 
story. They tell you — these good citizens — as you 
pass along, now pleasant, gossiping histories; now low- 
hissed scandals, mouldy and soured, which ought long 
ago to have been in their graves; and occasionally 
you hear a tale of open or proved guilt such as 
you would rather not believe could have its dwelling 
m such innocent-looking homes. 

You hear them speak names which call up no 
image in your mind, and which have long since 
ceased to receive an answer in these streets. They 



KEMINISCENT. 49 

call places by appellations unfamiliar to your ears. 
The iron horse has brought new wealth, prosperity 
and hope to the thriving town. There are groceries 
where there used to be gardens; mansions where 
there used to be meadows. The town is richer and 
handsomer than it was; but in many hearts, for 
whom the old quiet used to be full of joy and peace, 
the new wealth and crowd and noisy prosperity can- 
not but sometimes awaken painful longings. In the 
stillness of the evening — when the shrill cry of the 
steam-whistle pierces the ear and goes echoing into 
the breathless distance, like the shout of a drunken 
man on the solemn midnight — you listen to their 
touching reminiscences of the past, and are moved 
by laments for which the eager, throbbing heart of 
common life has no chord in unison. 

But, for the present, we will pass scandal and 
retrospect, except so far as the latter recalls the 
memory of two men whose wide-spread fame has 
become identified with that of their homes, and 
whom I have not mentioned with others who have 
brought honor to it — George Nixon Briggs and the 
Rev. Dr. John Todd. Whether there is romanca 
in the lives of either of them or not, there is cer- 
tainly beauty in their memory, among the hills; and 
beauty that is seen afar off. I need not speak in 
detail of either. Their memoirs, wi'itten with rare 
ability, have been long published to the world; and 
I only desire here, by a few reminiscences of their 
lives, to give a pleasant tinting to our scenery. 

And, first, of the much-loved Governor Briggs, 
5 



50 TAGHCONIC. 

whose beautiful tomb in our beautiful cemetery is 
the spot there most sought by the visitor. You will 
observe that, conspicuous upon it, is a large white 
marble cross. He loved well that simple symbol of 
the Christian faith, so long proscribed in New Eng- 
land; and it was his influence which placed it on the 
spire of the village Baptist church in which he 
worshipped. But I shall only have room to give you 
a few reminiscences, illustrating one of the qualities 
which won for the good governor so universal popu- 
larity, and which were remarkable as mostly referring 
to incidents which occurred within the compass of 
a few days. 

In the spring of 1851, 1 chanced to occupy, one day, 
a seat with Governor Briggs in the cars of the Boston 
and Albany Railroad. The train was excessively 
crowded, many being compelled to stand; and when 
we reached Westfield there entered our car, at the 
door most distant from us, two women evidently 
much wearied; one of whom carried a child. None 
of the gentlemen in their vicinity seemed to notice 
their condition; but Governor Briggs went forward, 
invited them to our seat, and aided the one with a 
child to reach it. Instantly many seats which had 
not been vacated for the weak and tired women were 
placed at the service of the Governor of Massachu- 
setts; but he remained standing, talking kindly to 
the women and at times soothing the child which 
had been made restless by its unaccustomed position. 
There was nothing in this, you may say, more than 
any true-hearted gentleman ought to have done. 



EEMINISCENT. 61 

True; but, out of a whole car-full, Governor Briggs 
was the only one to think of doing it. 

We passed on, and as we approached the Brook- 
line Bridge, near Boston, found that a collision had 
taken place upon, it, blocking the passage with the 
wreck of two trains, which hung by a fearfully pre- 
carious hold over the water. It was necessary for 
the passengers to clamber over and thi'ough the 
wreck, to reach the relief train, while their baggage 
was sent to the city by the highway. But, among 
them, was an old Irish woman, one of those wrong- 
headed, as well as ignorant, people who can never 
be made to see the necessity of anything out of the 
ordinary course. She would not and could not be 
separated from her trunk — a rude, hair-covered 
chest. Most men would have been merely amused 
by, at least indifferent to, her troubles; but ludi- 
crous as was her grief, it was piteous and real, and 
such, however uncouth and groundless, never failed 
to touch the heart of the governor. So when, hav- 
ing passe(i from one to another, imploring aid, she 
came to him, perceiving at once the uselessness of 
attempting to reason with her, he quietly took hold 
of one end of her trunk, and helped her carry it over 
the tottering wreck. The profuse and quaintly ex- 
pressed thanks of the woman, and her still more 
profuse and quaint apologies — when, with all her 
old-world awe of dignitaries, she found whom 
it was she had made play the porter for her — were 
extremely amusing. But there were few who wit- 
nessed the scene who did not envy Governor Briggs 



62 ~ TAGHCONIC. 

his satisfaction in relieving the distress of even so 
rude and uncouth a creature, by so simple a piece of 
thoughtful kindness. 

Leaving the governor at Boston, I pursued my trip 
to Martha's Vineyard, whei*e I employed a man to 
carry me from point to point in search of certain 
varieties of clay — a plain, but intelligent and quick- 
witted person, of much shrewdness and criticism, 
which he applied freely to public men, as we rode 
along. But, happening to learn incidentally that I was 
from Pittsfield, he checEed his horses suddenly, and 
exclaimed. "Pittsfield; why Governor Briggs lives 
there ! " Somewhat surprised at his apparent emo- 
tion, I assented; and he continued: " I love that man; 
I always shall. You know I am a Democrat; but I 
always put in my vote for George N. Briggs. He's 
got a heart — he has ! " I asked him how he found 
that out; and he replied, that once, when the go- 
vernor was reviewing the militia at New Bedford, 
he was standing directly behind him, with his little 
daughter in his arms. The child begged hard to 
see the governor and the troops, while the crowd 
and his position made it difficult to show her either 
to her satisfaction; but the goyernor, happening to 
hear her entreaties, turned around, took her in his 
arms, and placing her before him on his horse, showed 
her the soldiers, and then, with a kiss, returned her 
to her father — a pleased child and a grateful father, 
you may well believe. " I have loved him for that," 
he said, " ever since;" and I always shall." 

At a later time, arriving at Pittsfield with a 



REMINISCENT. 63 

travelling acquaintance from the west, he asked me, 
while the train was accidentally delayed for a few 
moments, to show him the residence of Governor 
Briggs, who had then been some months dead; and I 
took him to a point where he obtained a view of the 
trees which conceal it. As he seemed deeply inter- 
ested in the view, I remarked carelessly, " So you are 
a hero-worshipper." " No," he replied with evident 
emotion, " I loved the man — I had good reason to ! " 
I had no time to learn the cause of this feeling — • 
whether it arose from some of those minor acts of 
kindness, such as I have related, and such as the 
governor was constantly performing — or from some 
grander benefits, for which occasion more rarely 
presents itself: but the tone and manner of the 
speaker were more earnest than would probably 
have been caused by any trivial beneficence. 

How many friends would be made by a public man 
whose life was filled with acts of kindness like those 
I have mentioned, and governed always by the spirit 
manifested in them, I leave you to judge. 

You will pass the Governor Briggs homestead on 
your way to Lebanon or Lake Onota, a little way 
beyond the Railroad Station in Pittsfield ; a hand- 
some mansion with fine grounds, and rich in portraits, 
busts and relics of its former owner. 

The parsonage, once the home of Dr. Todd, is not 
very* far from the Park ; but it is so changed from 
what it was that it hardly suggests a memory of him. 
When I first came to Pittsfield, the first thing I 
looked for was the author of " The Student's 



64 TAGHCONIC. 

Manual ; " and I had no difficulty in singling him out 
from a number of di&tingui figures in the village 
streets. He was the homeliest good-looking man, I 
ever laid eyes on ; and, withal was unmistakably 
marked with the impress of thought and feeling. 
Mindful of certain ridiculously ineffectual attempts to 
mould myself upon the systematic model prescribed 
by his famous book^ I held him in almost grewsome 
awe ; and it was a great consolation to find after- 
wards that he was not nearly so formal a man as I 
dreaded, but one who did an immense amount of 
work, simply by attacking it lovingly, and with a 
loving purpose. You may recollect that he became an 
author, so that he might add to his means of support- 
ing an aged and infirm mother. 

He was the most contented man I ever knew. 
Living comfoi'tably and handsomely, if not luxuri- 
ously ; loving and loved, not only by his own people, 
but by the whole community ; glorying in and en- 
joying the natural beauties and the pleasant fortunes 
of his home ; surrounded by a social circle perfectly 
adapted to his tastes ; honored at home, and famous 
abroad ; with admirers to welcome him, wherever he 
went ; with the means and the taste to fill up his 
vacations with healthful woodland sports : Thus 
favored of fortune, there was no good reason for dis- 
content, and Dr. Todd was not the man to seek evil 
ones. Of sorrow and pain, he, like other men, had 
more than enough ; but they were the incidents of his 
manhood, not of his position in life. They might be 
sources of grief and bodily agony ; but not rightly 
of discontent. 



REMINISCENT. 55 

Seeing the man thus living and, as it seemed to me, 
living beneficently, and in the tenderest love for all the 
world, I came — although I had little sympathy for 
what I supposed to be his abstract theological opin- 
ions — to share in the kindly feeling which he in. 
spired in all about me. In this comfortably Christian 
mood, I was shocked to find the truculent Theodore 
Tnton, who had been taken somewhat sharply to task 
by the good doctor, going about insisting that the 
following lines, by Longfellow, were intended as his 
portrait : 

" The parson, too, appeared, a man austere. 

The instinct of whose nature was to kill ; 
The wrath of God he preached from year to year. 

And read, with fervor, " Edwards on the Will ;" 
His favorite pastime was to slay the deer 

In summer on some Adirondac hill. 
E'en now, while walking down the rural lane, 

He lopped the wayside lilies with his cane." 

" Good lack ! " I thought, " can this be the man 
who, to our uninspired eyes, seemed the very soul of 
gentleness ? who seemed to have a child-like love for 
the meanest flower that blooms? who sorrowed 
for a loved tree, as for a friend ? Where had that 
austerity been hid for so many years; that it never 
scared the village children who hung upon his smile 
just as though it was benignant. Had all of us 
really been, for near forty years, ascribing the 
kindest of humane souls to one whose instinct was to 
kill, and who did not even spare the lilies in the 
Berkshire lanes — if any grow there; which I very 
much doubt, unless somebody, like Dr. Todd, has 



56 TAGHCONIC. 

planted them for the wicked pleasure of cutting them 
down. There really seemed to be a sad misconception 
on somebody's part — Mr. Tilton's, as I hoped, since 
it could not much harm him. 

But let us see, item by item, wherein the likeness 
of the picture to the Pittsfield pastor consists. Item 
first: The scene of the poem is laid in the village 
of KillingAvorth ; and Dr. Todd was born in the 
village of Killingworth in Connecticut, but was never 
pastor there. Item second : The' Killingworth parson 
was a " man austere ; " there the likeness fails alto- 
gether — Dr. Todd was anything but that. Item 
third : This austere parson " preached the wrath of 
God from year to year ; " and I suppose that, like 
thousands of other ministers of religion, the world 
over, Dr. Todd preached upon that theme as often as 
he thought it to be his duty ; which was certainly 
not " year in and year out " — for he delighted much 
more in preaching the Creator's tender mercies, that 
are over all his works. He rested firmly upon the 
orthodox Congregational creed — the faith of his 
fathers — and died steadfast in it ; but he loved best 
to repose upon its sunny side ; and, ever, as his 
religion ripened with his mellowing years, his charity 
grew broader, and his appreciation of God's loving 
kindness keener and deeper. Item fourth : The 
poet's objectionable preacher read with fervor " Ed- 
wards on the Will : " Dr. Todd was at one time pastor 
of a church in Northampton which was an off-shoot 
of that which in 1750, by a majority of one hundred 
a;ul eighty, I'efused utterly to have the stern Calvin- 



BEMINISCENT. 67 

istic moralist any longer to be their servant — or, as lie 
would have had it, their master — in the Lord. How- 
ever, the children had long ago repented of the sin 
of their fathers — the offending minister having risen 
to a great height in the esteem of his co-religionists. 
And so, when they sent out a colony to found a new 
church, they called it " The Edwards ; " and Dr. 
Todd, who became its first minister, gave the same 
name to his first-born son. Doubtless he held his 
celebrated predecessor in reverence; but I had it from 
his own lips that he deemed, not only the much ob- 
jurgated and much-admired Treatise on the Freedom 
of the Will, but all metaphysical theology whatever, 
unprofitable reading, while we have the Bible, and 
the great book of Man and Nature is spread wide- 
open at its less abstruse pages. I do not believe that 
he read a page of "Edwards on the Will," with fervor 
or otherwise, after he left the Theological Seminary. 
Item fifth : The favorite pastime of the Killing- 
worth Cruelty was to slay the deer in summer, out in 
the Adirondack country. And so did Dr. Todd love 
to hunt the deer there, and elsewhere ; as hundreds 
of very worthy people still do. The pleasures of the 
chase would bring little but pain to myself ; and the 
cold-blooded ruthlessness with which Kingsley in his 
" Idylls " gloats over the skillful " killing " of trout 
ruins half my pleasure in that otherwise charming 
book. But that, I take to be a constitutional pecu- 
liarity ; and it would be absurd in the extreme for me, 
on the strength of it, to assume a virtue above that 
of Canon Kingsley, Isaack Walton, Shakespeare, Adi- 



68 TAGHCONIC. 

rondack Murray, and a host of other renowned trout- 
killers and deer-slayers, lay and clerical. 

But, to be fair, I suppose that the gist of Mr. Long- 
fellow's accusation, if it be an accusation, lies in the 
innuendo — " in summer " — intending thereby that 
the reverend defendant slew the deer, out of season, 
wantonly, and contrary to the recognized although 
unwritten laws of venery. And Dr. Todd did pursue 
the chase on the Adirondack hills in summer. He 
could not well have done so at any other season ; but 
he obeyed the law in its spirit, if he broke it to the 
letter : for he scrupulously refrained, however much 
in need of venison, from firing upon a fawn or a nurs- 
ing doe, and never at any season killed for the 
pleasure of killing, but rather with pity for the pain 
inflicted. 

There seem to be some wide divergences between 
Mr. Longfellow's portrait, and its assumed original ; 
but there is suflicient vraisemblance to justify the as- 
sertion that Dr. Todd was the clergyman whom the 
poet had in his mind, when he wrote " The Birds of 
Killingworth ;" and it seems equally certain that he 
was misled by the reports of certain jealous and 
rascally Adirondack guides — as is very well sho-v\Ti 
by Dr. Todd's biographer. And it is to be mourned 
that the most amiable and gentle of our great poets — 
one to whom the love of all English-speaking people 
gives such power of reproof and condemnation — 
Bhould have allowed himself to be led into injustice by 
Buch base and vulgar slanderers. I will not believe 
that he was the more readily induced to give them 



REMINISCENT. 59 

credence by the memory of Dr. Todd's old polemical 
pastorate — a half a century ago — in Groton. The 
odium theologicum could hardly rankle so long as 
that in the celestial mind of the author of so much 
noble and manly verse. But well says old Selden, 
speaking of judges who hold the power of life and 
death : " Let him who hath a dead hand take heed 
how he strikes." 

Here have I been spending this time which we 
might have given to pleasant reminiscences of Pitts- 
field's great pastor in a probably needless defence of 
him against a random and unworthy charge : but 
perhaps I have been able in this way, as well as 
another, to show how he appeared to one out of his 
own theological pale. How he looked to one of his 
own household, both in the faith and according to the 
flesh, is graphically painted in the full and frank 
biography published by his son. 



V. 
PONTOOSUC LAKE. 



The memory of oue particular hour 

Doth here rise up against me. — Wordsworth. 

Oh, thou most rare day in June, whose rain of 
golden moments fell so preciously by the green 
borders of Pontoosue; there shall be few like thee 
in the gladdest summer month ! 

With L. and two other friends from the dear 
tri-mountain city, and with one laughing daughter of 
the Berkshire soil, I went that faultless morning, to 
pass the " lee long summer day "by the clear waters 
of our favorite lake : the popular favorite, although, 
fair as it is, I confess that it has a rival in my own 
esteem. But this is lovely enough to satisfy any 
reasonable craving. And so is the approach which 
brings us to it. Passing the neat and tasteful fac- 
tory village, whose busy wheels have been turned by 
the waters of the lake for more than half a century, 
you enter a piece of winding, willow-shaded road, on 
the left of which the ground descends abruptly.to the 
rocky bed ©f the Housatonic river, which issues from 
the lake a few rods above. Just below, it falls in a 
cataract, whose worst fault is that it is artificial. 



PONTOOSUC LAKE. 61 

Alas, on this whole romantic stream, from the 
mountains of New Ashford to The Sound, there is not 
one waterfall which has not been disturbed by art. 
But water, and especially dashing, sparkling, foaming 
water, is always beautiful, and this broad, smooth 
sheet of crystal, rolling over its table of massive 
marble, to be broken into infinite sparkling drops 
thirty feet below, is worth at least a passing glance. 
If you so honor it, you will observe that the smooth 
water, at frequent intervals in its fall is bent, across 
its whole width, into rippling curves parallel to its 
upper surface. The Cause is simple enough, but it 
took us, bright ones, a long while to hit upon it that 
June morning. No, I shall not tell it here;, for it is 
the prescriptive privilege of the Berkshire friend 
who first drives you that way, to propound the prob- 
lem for your bewilderment. 

Before you have solved it, a slight rise in the road 
will bring in view the blue surface of the lake, in 
glassy stillness or sparkling in broken light, dotted 
only with two emerald islets. Mere dots, now : in 
that elder day, before the dam-builders — observe 
that, as I spell it, dam is a noun substantive — before 
the dam-builders had raised the surface of the lake 
and spoiled some of its prettiest outlines, these islets 
were quite conspicuous islands; the commodious re- 
sort of frequent jolly chowder-parties. At a still 
earlier day, as you will see by and by, they had a story. 

You catch your first glimpse of the water between 
gentle declivities covered by a fine growth of pine, 
with, hej'e and there in the intermediate opening, an 
6 



62 TAGHCONIC. 

elm, a hemlock or a beech. As you pass through 
these woody portals — or better, if you stand in the 
grove on the southern bank — the view expands. 
The farther shores rise gradually to hills; to moun- 
tains. Not far off, in the west, they terminate in 
the ever-graceful Taghconic domes; every summit 
of which, in a calm clear day, is mu*rored by the un- 
ruffled lake. You should see them on such a day in 
their brave June verdure, or in their October 
splendors, every height, every hue, glowing double, 
hill and shadow, as perfectly as ever Wordsworth's 
swan. 

On the north, the long valley, a little broken by 
the boldj fair hills of Lanesboro', stretches away until 
it finds its barrier in that superb culmination of so 
many Berkshire landscapes, grand and graceful 
Greylock. 

You would pause, as we did, to admire the almost 
artistic arrangement of the stately grove of pines, 
the single elms, and beeches, and the twin hemlocks 
scattered along the lawn-like slope between the road 
and the lakeside ; but I know not how much of all 
these the encroaching waters will leave for the de- 
lectation of future visitors. There was a very 
joyous and soothing beauty in the scene as, driving 
slowly along, with the gently rippling waters upon 
our left and the cool evergreen grove on our right, 
we stopped here and there; now to gather splendid 
bouquets of the rich red columbine, which then grew 
here in profusion, and now to try, for the most part 
in vain, to catch a glimpse of the birds, who from 



PONTOOSUC LAKE. 63 

their hiding places, joined with most naelodious 
energy in the carolings of M. and F. 

Dismissing our cai'riage at the northern end of the 
lake, we sauntered back, lingering by the pebbly 
shore, where the dashing of the wavelets reminded 
us all of the great billows that beat upon the Atlantic 
beach one other summer day. It was strange this 
mimicry of the great sea by the little mountain loch. 
F. said she had once been startled in the same way 
by recognizing the tones of a great orator in the 
lispings of his infant grand-child. Such are the 
trifles of which talk is made on summer excursions. 

Then we sat awhile under the great pines, and let 
that mischief of a Grace — she of the Berkshire 
Hills — inveigle every one of us into a promise to 
read there, on our return, verses in their honor, com- 
posed during the day. I confess that I was, for 
a reason which will appear by and by, the first to 
assent to this nonsense. But, having assented to it, 
our wisdom recovered itself, and espying across the 
lake, an inviting grove familiar to all our lovers of 
picnic, we determined to make it our camping ground 
for the day. I have since seen a fanciful array of 
gaily bannered barges moving thither in long pro- 
cession bearing the semblance, at least, of kings and 
queens, cavaliers and court ladies, priests and bandits, 
harlequins and columbines, monks and outlaws, 
clowns, savages, fairies and all the masquerading 
fraternity, while pealing music echoed among the 
astonished hills, and the dwellers on the farther shore 
wondered what on earth was coming now. 



64 TAGHCONIC. 

In our time the lake fleet was somewliat more 
scanty ; but, by the courtesy of the gentlemen of the 
neighboring factory, we were enabled to reach the 
haven where we would be in a luxurious boat, once the 
property of Audubon who had used it in his studies of 
the rich ornithology of the Berkshire -lakes. We were 
soon quite at home in a nice nook of the grove, where, 
by the aid of L's flute, F's guitar, the fun of the 
madcap Grace, a book or two of poetry, and a plenti- 
ful supply of cold chicken and other " creature com- 
forts," we passed hours which are not lightly to be 
forgotten in lives which have few such. 

Then, too, there wei'e rough rambles, to the grievous 
detriment of Grace's flimsy drapery ; although, on my 
soul, I believe the gypsy tore that gown with malice 
prepense, for the sole purpose of bringing an uuhappy 
victim within range of her wit. At any rate he came, 
and, as she was repairing damages with an infinitude 
of pains and pins, impertinently asked what she was 
about ? " Collecting my rents, stupid ! " And as 
Grace was the owner of houses and lands in quantities, 
we all laughed. It is so easy to be witty at picnics. 

" And to laugh at the wit of an heiress any where," 
do I hear you add ? Well, perhaps, Monsieur Le Sauer; 
but that has nothing to dp with our lake-side merri- 
ment. You haven't an idea what a balm there is in 
woodland odors. I half believe a day or two in these 
Berkshire woods would take some of the grimness out 
of even your visage. The experiment is worth trying, 
for the curiosity of the thing, if for nothing more. 
I wonder how vou Avould look with a s;leam of real 



PONTOOSUC LAKE. 66 

genuine happiness in your eye. So come right along, 
old fellow, and we'll take you all about : make a new 
man of you as like as not. 

There are fanciful legends about this Pontoosuc lake ; 
among them an old tale that a shadowy bark with a 
shadowy boatman is often seen to flit over its midnight 
waters, as if in quest of that which it is doomed never 
to find. What it is this restless phantom seeks, whether 
lost love or hidden foe, I do not know that legends tell. 
I have often passed that way at the accredited witch- 
ing hour : sometimes when the pale moon shed a very 
ghostly light upon the waters, while the shrieks, 
screams and bowlings that hurtled discordant upon 
the air, defied all my 'ologies to assign them to any 
known beast, bird or reptile ; sometimes when only 
the lurid lightnings fitfully lit up the night, and shim- 
mered a thin and sulphurous blue from shore to shore; 
sometimes when fisher's skiffs, a red torch glowing at 
every prow, looked sufticiently infernal ; but neither 
in ghostly moonlight, by lurid flash, or by glare of 
torch, can I rightly say that I ever caught sight of 
his flitting ghostship. 

" You never did ! well that shows how much of 
a seer you are. Now, that ghost's as real as — 
as real as anything. Why there are two of them." 

It was that saucy Grace who said this, when she 
read my humiliating confession. The simple fact is 
that Grace belongs to one of the old story-telling 
Berkshire families. One of her ancestors was prime 
chum to Hendrick Aupaumut, tradition-keeper-in- 
chief to the Mohegan nation, almost two hundred 



66 TAaHcoxic. 

years ago ; and that veracious chronicler indoctrinated 
him in all the legendarv lore of which he was master. 
Of course his pretty descendant has a tale to fit 
every romantic scene among her well-loved hills. I 
do not know that anv of her storv-tellinij ancestry 
were ever guilty of fathering the wild children of 
their imagination upon old Aupaumut, If they did, 
nobody suspected them of it; for they were all 
*' honorable men." or at least were always so desig- 
nated in the political columns of the county news- 
papers. I have, however, sometimes suspected that 
their quick-witted daughter, rather than let any 
favorite spot go unstoried, would on the instant in- 
vent a tale to meet its exigences; and if a ghost were 
neeiled would e'en ha\int it herself. I have gleaned 
from her a good deal of the material for the Indian 
legends of this vohune; but in order to secure the 
accurate truthfulness, which, as you perceive, charac- 
terizes them, I have been obliged to correct her 
vivacious narration by the aid of graver authorities; 
frequently summoning Hendrick Aupaimiut from 
the Happy Hunting Grounds for that purpose, and 
sometimes consulting the historic;U collections of 
Dry-as-Dust LL.D. 

In most cases I have thus scrutinized her stories 
60 closely as to leave little doubt of their perfect 
truth; but in this Pontoosuc affair, I shall devolve 
that task upon the reader, and tell the tale just as it 
was told to me. 



pontoosuo lake. 67 

Shoon-keek-Moon-keek. 

" She loved her cousin ; such a love was deemed 
By the morality of these stern tribes 
Incestuous." — Bryant. 

In the first place yoii must know that Pontoosuo 
was not the aboriginal name of the lake now so 
called. That is a corruption of the Mohegan word 
Poontoosuck — "a field for the winter deer," by 
which the tribe called all the Pittsfield valley, indi- 
cating that it was their abundant hunting ground. 
When the factory of which I have spoken was built, 
it received the name, simplified for the sake of 
convenience, and it was gradually extended to the 
lake itself. 

The Mohegans, who loved the lake well, called it 
Shoon-keek-Moon-keek. Why they did so, you will 
find out if you listen with a little better attention 
than you gave those phantom voices across the water: 
loons, herons, owls and foxes, I haven't a doubt. 

Although at certain well-defined seasons of the 
year, this valley, in the old Mohegan times, used to 
be all alive with hunters and trappers, its permanent 
population was exceeding scant. The Indians did 
not greatly affect solitary wigwams, but the little 
clusters which passed with them for villages were 
small indeed; and it was one of the smallest which 
stood in the sunny recess among the hills, seventy 
or eighty rods below the lake and on the west side 
of the outlet. You can hardly mistake the spot. 
They found some ghastly relics of the aboriginal 



68 TAGHCONIC. 

owners not far from the site of their village, not 
many years ago. 

The great men of this little community were two 
brothers, probably not very conspicuous in Mohegan 
annals, for their very names are forgotten now; and 
all else concerning them except this faint legend. It 
happened one bright day in June, three hundred 
years ago, that to one of these brothers was born a 
son, and to the other a daughter; the prettiest little 
papooses that ever came to light in all that region. 
Their names, Shoon-keek for the boy. Moon-keek for 
the girl, seem to have signified their parent's ap- 
preciation of that pleasant fact, although I cannot 
give you a literal translation of the words. 

One shudders to think of the barbarous physical 
and moral training those young things underwent. 
No boarding school miss ever had her back straight- 
ened by such heroic processes as gave uprightness to 
the children of the woods, and I dare say the mental 
and moral processes were equally rude and effective. 
The motto was " kill or cure; " the weaklings always 
gave in, before they made much trouble in the 
world. As the cousins did not die, the presumption 
is that they graduated, perfect specimens of the 
Indian youth and maiden: indeed the tradition hints 
as much. 

The other result might have been better for them; 
but no such gloomy premonition overshadowed their 

joyous childhood. 

" The morning of our days 

Is like tlie lark tliat soars to heaven, all happiness and praise ; 

The earth is full of beauty, rose .bloom is on the sky. 

And hope can never fail us, and love can never die." 



SHOON^-KEEK-MOON-KEEK. 69 

And so Shoon-keek and Moon-keek revelled to- 
gether in all the joys of childhood; gathered for each 
other the arbutus in spring, the laurel in summer, 
and all pretty wild flowers in all flowery months ; 
together filled their birchen baskets with the luscious 
berries of the woods, together chased birds or but- 
terflies; and as they grew older fished on the lake 
in the same birch canoe. 

It was very pleasant for the fathers to see the 
children thus absorbed in each other — just brother 
and sister, as it were : which, considering the stern 
moral law, I have quoted above from Bryant's famous 
poem, seems to me much like playing with edge tools ; 
cousins are so liable to discover that they are only 
cousins. Not that any consciousness of wrong 
disturbed the pure happiness of Shoon-keek and 
Moon-keek: even when they were both thrown into 
consternation by the matrimonial advances made by 
divers young men of the tribe to the maiden, they 
did not suspect the nature of their common grief. 
Little the simple ones deemed that the affection which, 
in those pleasant places, had grown up as sweetly and 
naturally as the. may-flower and the violet mingle 
their perfumes, was unholy. 

So natural and so innocent was their intercourse 
that, not until the keen eye of jealousy discovered 
and its subtle tongue pointed it out, did the fathers 
of these poor children suspect the love, which ihej 
called guilty; nay, not till the voice of parental 
authority had forbidden their precious meetings did 



70 TAGHCOJaC. 

the lovers learn the natiu'e and aa-dor of their owti 
passion. 

Parental authority had some rather effectire means 
of asserting itself among our predecessors in this 
valley. But not for that did the cousins consent to 
forego each other. The means of evading parental 
oversight were also abundant in those thick-wooded 
days. There were hidden recesses in the islands 
of the lake, in its sedgy shores, in its inlets and out- 
lets, all very tempting to opposed lovers who could 
both speed the light canoe. Then, as now, at night 
as well as by day, the surface of the lake was con- 
stantly dotted by the little skiffs of the fishermen — 
and fisherwomen. And then as now, the busy plyers 
of the hook and line little noted at night if one or 
another skiff, dipping its torch quietly in the wave, 
suddenly darted into some narrow hiding place. But 
then it unfortunately happens that all who go down 
upon the lake in little boats are not busy plyers of 
the hook and line, but sometimes, rather, busy-bodies 
in other men's matters : a sort of people, who, though 
specifically classed by Holy Writ among the wicked, 
persist in existing in all ages. And they always 
make mischief wherever you find them. Xoekawando 
was the mischief-maker on Pontoosuc Lake three 
hundred years ago; and as he was, not only a prymg 
busybody, but also a jealous lover of the pretty 
Moon-keek, you may be sure he was not long in 
making known to her father the secret of her clan- 
destine nocturnal meetings with her forbidden cousin; 
and a pretty lecture the old fellow read her ; with a 



SHOON-KEEP.-MOON-KEEK. 71 

promise of such further measures as on examination 
he might find the case to demand. 

My dear young lady reader: thatthreS,t suggested 
something much more serious than being locked up 
in your own room, even on a meagre diet of bread 
and water. But, if love laughs at locksmiths, what 
could be expected of a flimsy wigwam, without so 
much as a latch to rattle or a hinge to creak, in the 
way of restraining a brave girl's wayward fancies ? 
The lovers had planned a meeting that very night 
upon the island in the lake; and they had it. They 
had before determined to fly from *Mohegan-land 
and ask adoption into some eastern tribe whose 
marriage code was less absurd than their own ; pre- 
cisely as an Englishman, resolved to marry his 
deceased wife's sister anyhow, just takes her across 
the Atlantic. The idea was a capital one; and, 
under the pressure of Nockawando's terrible, dis- 
covery, they determined to carry it out the very next 
night. They should have started right off on the 
instant. I wish they had, even if the lake had waited 
to this day for a story and a name. But, even with 
the primitive wardrobe and diet which prevailed 
three centuries ago in Mohegan-land, some little pre- 
paration seems to have been needful. And, then, 
Moon-keek's stern parent had intimated that he 
would wait the return of his brother from Esqua- 
tuck, before proceeding to extreme measures. 

But delays are dangerous, as even our sanguine 
lovers seem to have been aware; for they made sad 
provision for the possibility of failure. They had 



12 TAGHCOXia 

not faith euough in the moral code of their nation, 
to make themselves mangled martyrs to it, like 
Bryant's monumental maiden, by jumping down a 
five hundred feet precipice into a hugh pile of 
jagged and splintered flint rocks. They declined 
martyrdom singly, even in the milder form suggested 
by the deep waters of the lake. But, however re- 
bellious against the more austere deities of their 
nation, they were sworn subjects of whatever imp 
in their mythology played the role of Cupid. 

Before leaving the island, they, therefore, solemnly 
pledged themselves, that, if any fate should interpose 
to prevent their flight, and thi'eateu to separate 
them forever, they would meet beneath the cool 
waters, and part no more. It was a fearful vow; 
and vet lovers, educated in a more enlififhtened faith, 
have been known to make, and faithfully perform, 
essentially the same. There was nothing in it, save 
the cousinly relation of the parties, that was re- 
pugnant to the superstitions of the forest. Yet hear 
what befell those who preferred the worship of the 
little god, Cupid, whatever may have been his Mo- 
hegan name, to the behest of the Great Manitou. 

You will have anticipated that fatal disaster befell 
the cousins in their proposed flight: fatal indeed 
it was, and fearful; but it mav be brieflv told. 
Shoon-keek, gliding stealthily across the waters to 
his island rendezvous, died by a treacherous arrow 
from the bow of Nockawando; and his body, pitching 
from the canoe, sank with strange swiftness. No 
breath of life, no spark of .soul, lingered to buoy it 



SHOON-IvEEK-MOON-KKBK. 73 

for an instant; but the shadowy semblance of him. 
who had sat there, kept his seat, and the skiff sped 
on, faster tluin when driven by mortal arms — 
towards the island, past the island, into the dim night. 

The expectant maiden discerned it as it passed, 
and the piteous tone in which she shrieked the name 
of her lover pierced the heart even of Nockawando 
who was approaching the point upon which she 
stood. The response came back as piteously, from 
afar, " Moon-keek ! " The lover — now a phantom, 
could then hear and answer the loved voice; but, 
though his arm seemed to drive on the skiff, another 
power inexorably guided its course. 

It needed but this, and the sight of the murderer, to 
tell the frantic girl all that had happened. Nothing 
remained but to fulfil her vow. Springing into her 
canoe, she darted it madly from the shore, singing a 
wild and plaintive death-song. Nockawando hastened 
to pursue ; but, as he drew near, the song ceased and 
such a supernatural silence prevailed that, in the terror 
of a guilty soul, he would have fled; but flight was 
no longer possible. He came nearer still: the maiden, 
like her lover, was a shade. What more he saw or 
heard, was never known, except that, as he looked 
the canoe of Moon-keek, without apparent motion, 
was afar off. He returned to the village, a gibbering 
idiot. Neither hunting-ground or war-path ever knew 
him more. The dusky maidens gazed upon him, 
shuddering — but pitiful ; and he fled from them as 
from some remembered horror. The tribes-men dealt 
7 



74 TAGHCONIC. 

charitably with him as with one stricken of heaven; 
but he went ever feebly moaning strange syllables: 
the wise men said, they were the parting words of the 
phantom maiden. 

Death at last came to his relief. But not so ended 
the punishment of those who loved not wisely ; that 
is, not according to the traditions of their people. K 
legends do not lie, it was decreed of Manitou, that 
so loncj as the lake shall dash its waves, so Ion 2: shall 
their restless shades flit over them with responsive 
but bewildering and illusive call and response, while, 
led by the hope that maketh the heart sick, they 
nightly seek that meeting, no niore to part, to which 
they impiously pledged themselves in the madness 
of unlawful love. 

With rightly attuned ears, you may, on almost 
any night when the lake is not frozen, hear those 
piteously plaintive voices, calling to each other from 
ever-changing points, and if you are a right ghost- 
seer — a sort of gifted folk much more rare than 
thev used to be — vou mav sometimes f aintlv discern 

• • • • 

a shadowy canoe flitting, spectre-like, over the waters; 
vanishing here, appearing there, in an altogether 
supernatural way: like an aboriginal Flying Dutch- 
man in miniature. Such are the phantoms of the 
Mohegan's Shoon-keek-Moon-keek, and our Pon- 
toosuc. 

" If I were rich enough, I would have that cruel 
lake drained," cried F., her blue eyes filled with tears. 

" Don't," said the laughing story-teller, " It would 
ruin some of the finest water-power in the county." 



SHOON-KEEK-MOON-KEKK. 76 

And yet one could see with half au eye, that she was 
proud to have had one sympathetic auditor. 

"And now," she continued, "now for the pine 
grove and our improvisings ! " 

Oddly enough no one owned to giving a thought 
to that rash promise of the morning, except Grace 
and my unhappy self — why unhappy, you shall see 
by and by. 

The pine is rather a rare tree in this region; but 
there are a few fine groves; this by the lake-side 
being the finest, although but a relic of that which 
the records proudly boasted, a hundred and fifty 
years ago. It looked very grandly as we paused on 
our way home, to pay it our tribute of verse. 

Grace, as the proposer, was first called upon for 
her offering; and gracefully accepting the situation, 
read : 

Pinos loquentes semper habonus. 

" Lowland trees may lenn to this side or to tluit, though it 
is but a meadow breeze that bends them, or a bank of cowslips 
from which their trunks lean aslope. But, let storm or 
Rvalanclui do their worst; and lot the pino find only a ledge of 
vertical precipice to cling to, it will nevertheless jyrow straight. 
Thrust a rod from its last shoot down the stem; it shall point 
to the center of the earth, as long as the tree stands." * * * * 
Other trees tufting crag and hill yield to the form and sway of 
the ground ; clothing it with soft compliance, are partly ita 
subjects, partly its flatterers, partly its comforters. But the 
pine rises in serene resistance, self contained. — Muskin. 



All hiiil to the pine, to the evergreen pint>, 

The i)ride of our forest, the boast of our story: 
A health to his tassels ; still green let them shine. 



Id , TAGHCONIC. 

To remind the new times of the old fields of glory ! 
'Twas lie to our fathers, on Plymouth's bleak shore, 

The first shelter gave and the first welcome bore : 
Then a health to thy tassels our own native pine ; 

A halo of glory, above us they shine. 

All hail to the pine, o'er our heroes that waved, 
Ere plumed was our Eagle or starry flags floated 1 

On field and on fortress where tyrants were braved, 
The pine on our banner the victor denoted. 

It marched in the van where our minute-men met, 
Its folds with the blood of our Warren were wet ; 

Proud voices of story are evermore thine. 

And we thrill to thy murmur, 0, eloquent pine. 

All hail to our-pine, fadeless type of the true ! 

The changeless in beauty, unbending, undaunted ; 
The banner of green, to the May breeze he threw. 

In the gales of December as bravely are flaunted. 
He meeteth the blast when the tempest is high, 

Nor faints in the heat of the scorched summer sky. 
Grand poet, pure teacher, high priest of truth's shrine, 

Thou art evermore with us thrice eloquent pine I 

"When Grace rolled out that Latin quotation-title 
in her fullest and richest tones I opened my eyes 
wide and stared at her in a half dazed way — e;lared 
at her, as she tells it; and got a provokingly saucy 
smile for my pains. But, as she read on -with melo- 
dious calmness, my blood fairly tingled; partly with 
amazement, partly with vexation and perplexity. 

" There was nothing in the verses so startling as 
that comes to," you remark. 

No indeed ! but the fact is, I had spent some 
weary hours, the day before, preparing to extem- 
porize those very lines, which the minx was coolly 



SHOON-KEEK-MOOX-KEEK. 17 

reciting as daslied off by herself in our pic-nic 
hubbub; But scolding would have been absurd, 
especially as, to tell the truth, she read my poor pur- 
loined verses, so charmingly that they sounded 
almost like real poetry. To make a formal claim to 
the auihorship was at least dangerous, in view of the 
probability that this was the very ambuscade into 
which my fair foe was trying to lead me, and once 
there I should be at the mercy of her merciless wit. 

There was only one road out of the scrape; and 
luckily I took it — I overwhelmed her with the most 
outrageous praises of her poem, and wondered that 
it could have been written in the brief and broken 
intervals of such a day. I had never suspected her 
'of such genius. Then I tore my own manuscript to 
shreds, declaring that it should never be brought 
into comparison with such a transcendent work. 

The rest of the party, astounded at my extrava- 
gance, fancied that I was crazed by love, or some- 
thing else equally far from my heart; and even the 
marvellous equipoise of Grace was a little disturbed. 
But she quickly regained her composure, and we 
both kept our counsel for that day. 

Of course the truth came out in the end, and I 
received the credit which that eloquent reading 
gained for my verse. Now I am rash enough to 
throw it away by printing the thing. I wont spoil 
a story for relation's sake, even though the relation- 
ship be so close as mine to myself. And, from the 
first, I determined to describe this particular pic-nio 
with reasonable fulness, just to show the uninitiated 



78 TAGHCOXIC. 

what a Berksliire pic-nic really is. I shall not need 
to depict another so minutely, unless it be of a 
didtereut class. 

But this is not yet ended. Some sunny houre of 
the June day yet remained, and, as our party was to 
be broken on the morrow, we were tempted to crowd 
as much as possible of ple^^sant adventure into the 
present excursion. We therefore resolved to extend 
our ride to a wonderful rock of which we had heard 
much, and which could be reached by an additional 
drive of perhaps two mUes, around the north end of 
the lake. There is a nearer road to it from Pittsfield 
village; but this, by and around Pontoosuc, is far 
the most picturesque. 



The Bala>'ced Rock. 
Dropped in nature's careless haste. — Burns. 

Passing again the lakeside, we turned, by a cross- 
road towards the west, and rolled through a qtiiet 
rural coimtry, whose inhabitants, whose fields and 
c^ittle, even; nay, whose very houses and bams; 
seemed as much in exuberant enjoyment of the day 

as otirselres. 

" Every clod feels a stir of might — 

An instinct within it that reaches and towers, 
And, grasping blindly al>ove it for light, 

Climbs to a soul in grass and flowers ; 
The flash of life may well be seen 

Thrilling back, over hills and valleys; 
The cowslip startles in meadows gre^n ; 

The buttercup catches the sun in its chalice, 
And there's never a leaf or a bud too mean 

To be some happy creature's palace." — J.<nctU 



THE BALANCED ROCK. 79 

A hill on this road affords fine prospects in various 
directions; especially looking backwards upon the 
lake, which has a wilder picturesqueness than when 
viewed from any other point. The Taghconics, 
too, loom up grandly in front. 

When the sun wanted an hour of his setting, we 
passed a few scattered chestnut trees in a field, and 
entered the grove which concealed our sphynx. 

The Balanced Rock is a huge mass of white marble — 
grey upon its weather-stained surface — weighing 
many tons; rudely triangular, or still more rudely 
oval, in its shape; and so nicely balanced on a pivot 
of a few inches, that, although, by the aid of a lever, 
it may be made to slightly oscillate, no force yet 
applied — and it has been tried with more than rea- 
sonable effort — has been able to ovei-turn it. . Of 
course it is not impossible to accomplish this van- 
dalism; but fortunately the means are not within 
easy reach of ordinary wantonness. The great danger 
is from greed; if this curious work of nature should 
come into the i:)OSsession of men of diflFerent charac- 
ter from those who have hitherto owned its site. It 
should be public property; and one of its recent 
owners offered to make it so, with sufficient surround- 
ing land, on condition that the public would take 
measures for its preservation. 

The belief used to be that the mass was immovable, 
which was an excellent reason for calling it the Roll- 
ing Rock, by which name it was first introduced to 
me. But I can bear witness that, on the occasion of 
a certain notable" visit to the spot by the combined 



30 TAGHCOXIC. 

seientitio associations of Troy, Albany and Pittstield, 
certain venerable savans, by the aid of a friendly 
fence-rail, did obtain distinct vibrations. 

The s:tnie learned geutleiueu determined, rather 
more doubtfully, that the jxivat rock w:v> not perched 
up there — where it looks like the roc described by 
Sinbiul the sailor — as certain other huge boulders 
were strewn about the countv, bv beinsj thrown over- 
board from ice-bergs or ice-does, several million ages 
aiio. It seemed to them, on the couti^arv, that the 
Balanced Rock grew where it stands, and that the 
mass which originally enclosed it had been worn aAvay 
by innumerable floods. On the other hand, a more 
recent geologist, after a more complete survey than 
the pleastire excursions of science can afford, discards 
all theories of floating ice, and holds that all these 
boulders, the Balanced Rock included, were de- 
posited by fields of ice, several thousand feet thick, 
slowly grinding over the ancient surface of the 
valley. 

They appear to have done some thorough work — 
those old ice giants — crushing, as in an emery mill' 
quartz, slate, mica, corundum, jasper, marble, horn- 
blende, irreen-stone, iron, and everv rook that could 
be gathered fi-om the neighboring motmtains, into all 
required sizes from that of the Balanced Rock and the 
Alderman, to the dust that grits in your teeth and 
sends a cold shudder through yoti when the ther- 
mometer is raging among the nineties. You may see 
fine specimens of ice-age-work carefully assorted in 
the curious strata of anv of our Berkshii-e srravel- 



ATOTARIIO'S DUFF. 81 

beds; and it will be well worth your while to make 
a study of them. 

But, as these explanations of the phenomenon of 
the Balanced Rock refer to obscure dates far back 
in the infinite eons; and the record, whatever the 
geologists aver, may YiOt seem to you indisi)utablo, 
perhaps you may prefer something within the range 
of authentic history, as related, fur instance, by those 
grave chroniclers, Hendrick Aupaumut and Grace 
Scheherazade. And it is but reasonable that you 
should have it. 

I assume that you know something of the Ato- 
tarhos of the Iroquois, or Six Nations; a line of kings 
or emperors, of whom each, when he succeeded to the 
oflic-e, took also the name of the founder of the 
dynasty, just as the Roman emperors were all 
Csesars. Individuals of the line were gifted with 
diverse divine, or at least supernatural, attributes and 
powers; all being esteemed demi-gods of one estate 
or an other. The first, a truculent old fellow, had a 
complete table service made of the bones of his 
enemies; and he had an imposing way of receiving 
even friendly deputations, clad in an entire jjanoply 
of living and venomous serpents. I have seen a 
portrait of his majesty in that royal costume. Most 
of his descendants, although invariably wise in 
counsel and mighty in war, were of a more gentle 
kind. The particular Atotarho, with whom we have 
here to do, was ordinarily of even feminine beauty 
and delicacy; and devoted himself to the cultivation 
of the milder virtues among his people. A white 



82 TAGHCONIC. 

poet has even ventured to fable that this gentle ruler 
was the daughter of Count Frontenac, stolen in her 
infancy, and palmed off on the confiding tribes by a 
childless predecessor. But the Iroquois were not 
the sort of people to see any divinity in a woman, 
and they aver that, if occasion required, he could 
assume gigantic proportions and unlimited strength. 
And this assertion is fully borne out by the story of 
the Balanced Rock. 

I need not tell you that the Indian youth were 
severely trained to athletic sports, — quoits, clubs and 
the like, — and you may or may not, have heard 
that a favorite game, was one which, under the name 
of " duff," was a favorite also among my own school- 
fellows, who played it with paving stones. It con- 
sists in placing one stone upon another, and then 
attempting to dislodge it, by pitching a third from 
such distance as the player can; a feat which requires 
more strength and nearly as much skill as the kin- 
dred game of quoits. 

It was a long, long while ago that a party of 
Mohegan youth were excited over this sport in the 
neighborhood of the Balanced Rock. Words ran 
high and indeed blows seemed exceedingly imminent 
when their attention was diverted to a slender 
youth who stood leaning against a neighboring tree 
in admiration of a sport in which he seemed ill 
adapted to take part. Had the elders of the tribe 
been present, doubtless the courtesy to a stranger 
required by Indian etiquette would have mitigated 
the rudeness of the youngsters' wit; but, left to them- 



AlOTAIillo's l)Lfl''F, 83 

selves, and taught to despise effeminacy, the strange 
youth appeared to them a fair mark for their raillery, 
and they did not spare him, notwithstanding his 
modest and manly responses. 

But the loudest laugh was when, as if provoked 
beyond endurance, he accepted a taunting challenge 
to a trial of strength and skill. The laugh was brief, 
and changed to cries of terror, when they saw the 
slender but lithe figure grow to giant size. Then 
they knew the Atotarho of their masters, the Iro- 
quois; and when he hurled the huge rocks about, as 
you still see them, they would have fled had not his 
glance held them fast. At last, seizing the largest 
boulder to be found, as one would a pebble, he fixed 
it where you now marvel, and the geologists 
blunder, over it — the Balanced Rock. 

Then, resuming the slender figure, to which the 
frightened youth were now quite reconciled, he 
gave them a lesson in manners and morals, which 
was handed down through all after-generations of the 
Mohegans, whose tradition-keeper-in-chief yearly re- 
peated it from the top of The Atotarho's Duff. 

Now, does not that sound a vast deal more sensible 
and truthful than all that stufl^ about icebergs float- 
ing round Perry's Peak, or glaciers five thousand 
feet thick in the Housatonic valley ? Methinks I 
hear you say; " Noio, act illy, dotCt itf'' 

Well, one thing is certain; whether this old rock 
got its marvellous poise at the hand of enchantment 
or by the still more Avondrous workings of nature, 
we came to visit it, that June afternoon, with n»in- 



S4 TA^HvX^XTC- 

^l^l m^rruu^Dit and ;is:s ^ >:v-cv% M. ni*h«\i k> it 
vrith a rinpug laugh, vuvlAr.ixg *h* wvHiUL pftsh tk* 
moixs^ter frv»m the i:»i?a: ^'^ ^^ '^ ^ ^ <:' * "^ ^"^r^r tliauk was 
rights Her g»\\ fairy-;. .v:.^ - . against th<^ 

rwJe, 5SWV ma$$ with saoh », ^-.;» rrtuiuvlod 

hand~»uu\l*»i v>£ Qvh^^u MaK 

We ha<d a HtiW imi^Wtaal jua«ie««kt»sit in d«e»> 

Gkhorittg the namei$ of inaiOMHraliJe Julias and Carvv 

ane^s Ro^iuvl*. Jaa«is> and ^^Koxany Augw^ty^'^ 

in$orib<?d by aid^evtivMoiate jack-knives^ upo« the baik 

^urrvmiulittg trees. Sc^ne elassie genti<»n«n, 

di - :se »>£ a dv>xy. had t ttrv»ned ameog 

:i\e \kvvr\i*. *^ Miatxvxx,'* anvl *^PKroixiJu* I 

Uivv ^uvv heard the story ctf the merry honr vh<e«i 

■ "^' .ttv>n'' w*? insoribed bv a hand vhieh has 

» . . . V tt maav a wittv and eJeirer w>lttme. Indeed, 

invleevi th««w must have been a deal of wit«:^*ery in 

the ottiming prie^ess. who nxade that sterti oV'. r-cvk 

brea:he sneh mysterious and enetkanting ux..- . 

'* Ota »s»v BSvvtsI <»«at:t;» c^' ^ttnk*^ WKxtVi 

BwoiW stk JBTln» nocWntSng mrfekMunt ? * 

I shv^old think ttvH, Was it a wood-nTm|«h tlk«N» 
with her mttsie box ! Was there ever anything in 
that btokea e^taaa^^agtie K>ttle at the foot of the* 
sjxhyivx ? And do wvxsl-«ynxj>hs vlrtnk ehampagne ? 
This gtv^ve is very questionable and full a£ marv>^ 

When we had clambered with a wv>rld of paios on 
to the tv»p of the rook, we, too. had miksie — merrr 
a»vl savl — *^ mttsie at the twiKs^t honr."* TVMk as 
the evening shades degf w ?aed in tite wvx>i etauMW K>wv 



THK BALJLNOKI> ROCK. So 

spokoM worvU of meiuoiy ami of longiiig for those 
far away. Alas I if all whom we iuvokevl had 
conu\ the grave and the :?ea must have given up their 
dead. 

With voi^.'es softeueil and nielloweil hy deeper 
feeling, my eompanious sang an " Av^ Maria," and 
we bade farewell, not gaily, to a scene mysteriously 
consecrated l>y memories not its own. So. often, in 
scenes and hours when we invoke the ministei-s of 
joy. vnher spirits arise in their places, and we do 
not bivi them down. 



VI. 

LEBANON SPRINGS — A DASH AT LIFE 

THERE. 



So Avhen, on Lebanon's sequestered liiglit, 
The fair Adonis left tlie realms of light, 
Bowed his bright locks, and fated from his birth 
To change eternal. — Darwin's Botanic Garden. 

Down in the hilly valley, beyond the Taghconics, 
is Lebanon — New Lebanon : the capital of the Shaker 
world, the seat of the mineral springs, the most de- 
lightful of watering places, the birth-place of Samuel 
J. Tilden, and our Gretna Green. All the world 
knows Lebanon, but much of it about as accurately 
as the knowledge-seeking traveller who, on the morn- 
ing after his arrival, desii*ed to be shown the cedars 
for which he was told the place was famous. Lest 
any of you should waste your time in antiquarian 
research for the point where " the fair Adonis left the 
realms of light," I may as well tell you at orice that 
it was the door which opens from the gay parlors of 
Columbia Hall out upon the long balconies on a 
moonless night. Lebanon Adonises " bow their 
bright locks '' to the brighter eyes of the belle of the 
season; and, as there is likely to be a new one every 
two or three months, they are fated to eternal change. 
That explains the fable. 



r.EBANON SPltlNGS. 87 

Tlio Si)ringt) are a veiy Mecca for summer pilgrims. 
The first June heats bring the habitues with their 
quiet quite-at-home air. A little later, others, catch- 
ing a feverish impulse from the city miasma, rush 
away like mad to flirt awhile with Nature and Hy- 
geia among the mountains. Still others take a season 
here after their Saratoga; like hock and soda-water 
after champagne. At all seasons — midwinter 
even — the i)eople of all the region-round-about love 
their little trips to The Pool. 

"The Pool:" that was the neighborhood name in 
the simple days of old. Catharine Sedgwick, Avho 
then, and always, well loved this resort, delighted to 
Bpeak of it as The Pool, and that is what Miss Warner 
also calls it in her charming novel, Queechy. Queechy 
Lake, by the way, is one of the prettiest features in 
Lebanon scenery, and the ride to it is a favorite drive. 

This valley was the Wyomanock of the Mohegans, 
and the name still clings to the stream which flows 
through it. Very lovely are both vale and stream. 
If natural beauty were the sole test of excellence few 
watering places would rival Lebanon Springs. But 
they have other merit than this. It is claimed that 
they are the oldest watering place in America; and 
village tradition will tell you tliut, a hundred and 
seventy years ago, or about the close of the last French 
and Indian war, a certain Captain Hitchcock, then 
stationed at Hartford, finding himself afiiicted with 
a grievous malady, was induced to try these waters. 
" He came," says an interesting local writer, " with 
ono servant and a company of Indian guides, and 



88 TAGHCONIC. 

was carried from Stockbridge to the Springs on a 
litter, and by an Indian trail, there being no roads. 
He found a large basin filled with water, and, from 
appearances around it, judged it to be a bathing place 
for the natives," Captain Hitchcock camped for 
several days near the springs, and received great 
benefit from their use. After the peace he returned 
to New Lebanon as a permanent resident, and his de- 
scendants still live there. 

Before the Revolutionary war, the Springs had 
become noted. In the early part of the present 
century they continued to grow in repute, and 
towards its middle, society there was subjected to 
the praises of Nat. Willis, the sarcasms of Mrs. 
Trollope and the judicious criticism of Miss Sedgwick, 
But why bother with the old life at the Pool while 
the living world of the Springs so provokingly 
challenges us to read it — if we can. It were an 
infinitely curious study to enquire what brings each 
individual into the respectably-motley throng; but, 
unfortunately for psychological science, the so- 
journers at fashionable hotels are the most incommu- 
nicative of beings; reticence being the primal law 
of society — technically so called. Lamentable as 
that fact is, we need not, however, despair; having 
a ready resource in that supreme faculty of guessing, 
which makes us, Yankees, from Emerson to Andrew 
Jackson Davis, the incomparable philosophers, we all 
are. 

It is a pleasant and profitable recreation to ex- 
ercise this precious and peculiar faculty, of a lazy 



LEBANON SPRINGS. 89 

summer afternoon, on the long verandahs of Columbia 
Hall. Laziness is the mother of at least one school 
of philosophy, and guessing at the foibles of one's 
friends is always delightful: their virtues, I take it, 
guessing philosophy generally leaves to be proved. 

There are some hundreds of human beings about 
the huge hotel, most of whom may be supposed to 
have some motive, not of a purely sanitary character, 
in coming here; and to have also some notion, more 
or less definite, of the nature of the place and the 
part they are to play in it. In the old times of the 
Pool, we might have gone straight to the point, and 
asked people what they thought of things in general, 
and themselves in particular; but, since Mrs. Trollope, 
Capt. Hall and the Dickens have snubbed inquisi- 
tiveness out of American manners, that won't do at 
all. It might reap the reward of impertinence. 
No matter ; a tolerably shrewd guess may do as well. 
Let us guess then. 

It would not require a Connecticut Solomon to 
discover that the student-looking young man, with 
an orange-colored face and sea-green spectacles, 
thinks himself in an enormous hospital, or perhaps 
only a mammoth apothecary's shop. I dare say he 
spends his most contented hours in the famous 
medicine factory of the Tildens, two miles down the 
street. He deems those gorgeous, flaunting dames, 
of whose bright presence he is rather vaguely con- 
scious, of no more real value — since they will not 
nurse his invalidship — than the colored waters in 
the apothecary's \vindow opposite. 



90 TAGHCONIC. 

Those gay ladies themselves, of course, view the 
matter in a very reverse light. Take one of them, 
for example — that flirting, chatting, jewelled thmg, 
Madame, the wife of the Wall Street millionaire. 
With both those clear-orbed eyes wide open, she can 
see little in this magnificent panorama of hill and 
valley, and this, its life-throbbing heai't, more than 
a splendid ball room or gorgeous saloon ; as indeed, 
for that matter, she would like the wide, wide world 
to be — and is vastly annoyed that misery, with 
her discordant shrieks and disgusting deformities, 
should presume to spoil the music and mar the deco- 
rations. 

That blinking exquisite in those outrageously 
stunning habiliments — him with the eye-glass pain- 
fully squinnied in between bloated cheek and villan- 
ously low forehead; him with his nose turned up, 
as if in scorn of the poor moustache struggling for 
life in the exhausted soil below it : he has gradu- 
ated from Paris; and the dazzling, dancing dames 
hold him a prodigy of intellect. But you note that 
he has all the external symptoms of being a thorough- 
bred donkey; and I think a practiced guesser would 
have little difficulty in making him out a weak cadet 
of one of those families to whom the Jenkinses of 
the New York press have given brevet rank as 
" aristocrats." 

Look again. You would call yonder a frank, free- 
hearted, undesigning girl. Hear with what joyous, 
summerly forgetfulness she throws off those snatches 
of unstudied song; and see how ingenuously the 



LEBANON SPRINGS. 91 

blush rises in her cheek, now she remembers that she 
is not alone. You would not dream now — would 
you ? — that she looks upon this fair spot only as a 
mart in which she is to dispose of that dear little 
commodity — herself — to the best possible advan- 
tage ? Yet I'll wager you a small farm I have in the 
clouds, that every note of that outgushing melody 
was aimed, point blank, at the handsome gentleman 
who has been conversing, these two hours past, with 
the pale girl in black. I only hope the minstrel will 
not be malicious enough to say, the pale girl is 
" setting her cap" for the handsome gentleman. 

Why don't she turn her thought to drive away 
the cloud which has settled in the eye of the gloomy- 
browed man who is pacing the verandah so heavily ? 
Bless us ! the summer sunshine glances off from 
him, and leaves not a trace of light; he has never 
sold his shadow to Satan. Yet I misdoubt; and so we 
go on, doubting and misdoubting, guessing and mis- 
guessing: sure enough — if we would consider it — 
of two things; that we shall always hit wide enough 
of the mark, and never too near the charitable side 
of it. " Wise judges are we, of each other's 
actions ! " 

This Lebanon is not without its vein of romance. 
' How could it' be, when youth and age, folly and wis. 
dom, joy and sorrow, love and hatred, life and death, 
make it their yearly rendezvous? How strange a 
rendezvous, oft-times ! Of those who seek here new 
thought, new hope, new feelings, how many find 
only what they bring — a jaded mind and a palsied 
heart ? Mind cramped to the puny pursuit of puny 



92 TAGHCOXIC. 

things will not always, upon the mountains, expand 
and glow with the widening horizon and the purer 
sunlight. Passion, born luxuriously in the crowded 
city, grows and strengthens, and will not die, in the 
bracing upland air. Yet is there forgetfulness, of 
lighter woes and less corroding cares, in the gay 
saloons and woodland di-ives, as well as marvellous 
virtue for the diseased body in the bubbling waters 
and fresh breezes. Care-worn men and women 
worn with ennui, do get new elasticity of thought 
and frame; but in what do they seek a balm for 
the wounded spirit, who bring hither the broken 
hearted also — like thee, fair and gentle L. — or was 
it that thy pure spirit might wing its way to Heaven 
through purer skies than overhang thy native city ? 
I said Lebanon had its vein of romance. A 
bachelor friend of mine, who has been a lounger at 
Columbia Hall every summer these ten years past, 
has a rich fund of stories — humorous, melo-drama- 
tic, and tragical — about those who have fluttered, 
flattered, flirted, and flitted here in that time. AVith 
him, half the demoiselles who have " made their 
market " under his eye, are heroines of a quality 
which would surprise themselves not a little to know, 
and their husbands a good deal more. It is often a 
matter of discussion with us, whether, among other 
connubial revelations, the arts and devices whereby 
he was entrapped are usually disclosed to the husband. 
In the absence of data from which to conclude, we 
always end in the same mists in which we set out. 
One of my bachelor friend's stories I will venture to 



OUR friend's story. 93 

repeat, although I perceive it loses half its flavor, 
for lack of the gusto with which he would dwell 
upon it. 

She Would be a Gentleman's Wife. 

" More beauty than ever at Lebanon this year," 
I remarked to my friend, as we sat together one even- 
ing, about a year since; it was a common observation, 
and I thought myself particularly safe in repeat- 
ing it. 

" Hey ! what's that you say ? " he ejaculated, 
after a pause, in which it seemed my words had been 
following him far down into the depths of reverie. 
" More beauty than ever ! Let me tell you, my 
dear fellow, that you know nothing at all of the 
matter. It's one of the stupid common-places of 
stupid common people." 

I bowed to the compliment, and the bachelor went 
on with a half sigh, " Ah ! you should have known 
us in the reign of the bitter and beautiful Lizzie B., 
or in that of the wonder-working Mrs. M." 

Here the bachelor again relapsed into reverie, and 
I had time to remark to myself that this hankering 
after faded flowers, when the world was full of fresh, 
was an ugly symptom that my friend's own hey-day 
of beaudom must be on the wane. When people 
begin to complain that they can find no beauty, now- 
a-days, like that which they used to meet, look if 
they don't wear wigs, and other falsities of decora- 
tion. 

"But the most charming season," resumed the 



94 TAGHCONIC. 

bachelor, emerging again into the present, " was that 
of 185-, when Kate L. was in the ascendant. She 
was far enough from beautiful, was Mrs. L., but such 
a winsome way she had with her that we all, to a 
man, acknowledged her sceptre — and the most 
dazzling belle in her realm was ready to die with 
envy: envy, by the bye, was a vice Mrs. L. was es- 
pecially free from. Never was woman more ready 
to recognize and exhibit the charms of her rivals. 
She surrounded her throne with a constellation of 
lovely women from far and near, and would let none 
be eclipsed. A kind-hearted creature was she, and a 
sensible to boot; a tithe part the jealousy we en- 
dured from the splendid Lizzie B. would have made 
Kate look as ugly as a Bornese ape. 

" But it was of her throne-maidens that I was going 
to boast. I wish you could have looked in upon one 
of our gala nights; we have none such now — (that, 
entre notes, was a fib of the bachelor's). There was 
a floral ball we had one night in July — I have some 
reason to remember it, but no matter. Mrs. L. had 
made more than usual exertions in getting up this 
festival, which was the opening one of the season. 
The arrangements were perfect; — the floral decora- 
tions unique and profuse; the music superb; and the 
supper just what it should be. But our Lady 
Patroness was too true a genius to give to these con- 
comitants the monopoly of her attention. With a 
magic little crow-quill by way of wand, she sum- 
moned from all manner of retreats, the most brilliant 
assemblage of fair women and distinguished men 



OUB fbiend's stobt. 95 

that I have ever beheld among these hills ; and when 
Mrs. L. summoned youth and beauty, you might be 
sure there was something to be done. I am going 
to leave them to do it, while I tell you of my cousin 
Ellen, the fairest of them all. 

"You remember Nell — my uncle Fred's Nell — 
the merriest girl that ever hid deep design under 
careless laugh. Uncle Fred., you must know, left 
her an orphan at twenty — with exquisite accomplish- 
ments, unrivalled tact, and four thousand dollars, 
with which to make her way in the world, as she best 
might. Her guardian — a staid, business-like old 
gentleman, guardian to half the heiresses in the 
county, as well — when her year of mourning was 
over, advised her to buy a share in a boarding-school, 
and earn her living by teaching. ' With your accom- 
j)lishnients and talents, my dear,' — the good, fatherly 
old man was going on, when he was astonished to 
find his pretty wai-d cutting short his speech with — 

" ' With my accomplishments and talents, my dear 
guardian, I don't intend to squeeze my brain like a 
lemon, to give flavor to some insipid school-girl, while 
I might as well be rivalling her mamma. No ! I'U 
invest in — a husband ! ' — and here her little foot 
came down with a will. 

"The guardian stared; but he was too sensible a 
man to oppose a woman whose will was up; and so, 
under the nominal chaperonship of his wife, Ellen 
opened her first campaign at Lebanon. 

"That night of the floral fete, she stood, the 
centre of an admiring group — a slight, aerialfigure, 



96 



TA.GHCONIC. 



I'ut full of elastic life and vigor; her face transparent 
with changing light, and her eye overflowing with a 
flood of love and laughter. She was dressed with 
wonderful artistic skill; for the life of me I could 
not imagine how she contrived to arrange her mist- 
like drapery so that she seemed always on the point 
of rising into air. I have since heard that it is no 
mystery among mantua-makers. Among the crowd 
of women, laden and over-laden with all kinds of 
flowers, native and exotic, Nell had only twisted in 
her hair a few snowy, star-shaped blossoms — -the 
spoil of a mountain excursion. Not a fold of her 
robes, not a tress on her head, but seemed too spiritual 
for mortal touch. I have since learned that the 
artistes call this style of dress, la Gahrielle. It is 
a triumph of genius; but I would not advise any 
lady weighing over two hundred to attempt it. 

" Frank Leigh was conversing with my etherial 
cousin in a composed tone, and with a gaze of mere 
earthly admiration which I could not then have as- 
sumed for the world, although Nell and I had been 
playmates from infancy. I almost shuddered — so 
strangely had the fancy possessed me — when Frank 
took her hand, to lead her to the piano, lest she 
should indeed prove a spirit, and dissolve into thin air. 

" 'Ellen should be a gentleman's wife,' said a pretty 
and brilliant widow by my side. 

" Wife ! so she was human. ' A gentleman's wife,' 
I repeated aloud, ' and pray what is a gentleman ? — 
and why should Ellen, more than another, be a gentle- 
man's wife ? ' 



OUR friend's story. 97 

" * Why,' replied the widow laughing, ' a gentle- 
man, in Ellen's vocabulary, is a man of elegant 
manners, with at least one hundred thousand dollars, 
and a disposition to spend his income in graceful and 
fashionable follies. Ellen's expensive tastes demand 
such a husband — and I hope she may get him.' 

" ' Oh, now I am enlightened,' I said. 

" ' I am glad to hear it,' rejoined the widow, 
merrily. ' But come with me out into the balcony, 
and I'll let you into a secret or two.' 

" Of course, such an offer was not to be resisted; 
and before we returned, I was put in possession of 
much recherche gossip, known only to the initiated. 

" There had come that year to the Springs, a fine 
looking young man — generous, spirited, of captivat- 
ing address, and great reputed wealth — Frank Leigh 
by name; the same who was in attendance upon my 
cousin Ellen at the floral fete. Of course such a 
god-send was not to be neglected by anxious mothers, 
and daughters no less anxious. Mrs. L., finding him 
clever, fond of sport, and prompt to forward all her 
gay schemes, had taken him up at once, and installed 
him her prime minister. Ellen, I need not say, was 
quite as r'< iy to acknowledge his merits. 

" Frank was universally declared to be a * sweet 
man,' in the ball-room and drawing-room; but he 
was not a bit of a dandy; there was nothing of the 
exclusively ladies' man about him, nothing effeminate 
in his habits. On the contrary, his tastes were emi- 
nently manly. He had yachted on the Atlantic 
coast, hunted moose in a Maine Winter, and even 



98 TAGHCONIO. 

taken a run after buffaloes into the Sioux country. 
Here, among the quiet hills, his exuberant spirits 
found vent in a passion for wild horsemanship. 
Jehu was a child to him, with the whip; he was sure 
always to choose some unmanageable foal of gun- 
powder, that nobody else would come within a rod 
of; men, even of strong nerves, were of opinion that 
safer pleasux-es existed than a seat beside Frank 
Leigh, on one of his break-neck drives; and as for 
the women, not a soul of the dear creatures, who 
would have given their eyes to secure him for a 
partner at the last night's ball, could be persuaded 
to trust their ivory necks with him and his ' Light- 
nino- ' next morning. 

" To all this was one most remarkable exception — 
my brave cousin Nell, who had come out all at once 
a perfect Di. Vernon. Ah ! but it was an inspiriting 
sight, to see her mounted on her brown steed, lead- 
ing her panting admirers an aimless race over fields, 
brakes, briers, and fences, till half the chase f oresAvore 
all pursuit of her thereafter. 

" But Nelly's favorite seat was in Frank's liglit 
buggy, of which she enjoyed undisputed possession — 
her rivals thinking it a particularly ' bad eminence.' 
Of course she was the constant companion of our 
Jehu, and a fit one, as it looked. Travellers marvelled 
enviously, as Frank's chariot dashed by them, to 
hear Nelly's clear, ringing laiigh, or rattling song; 
or even at times to see her slight figure braced back, 
her loose curls flying, and her little hands holding 



OUR friend's story. d9 

fast the ' lines,' while she urged the foaming horses 
to yet more impossible speed; — 

' Like a dream doth it seem, 
Wheu I think of the past ; 
Up the road gallantly dashing along, 
Driving two noble steeds, square built and strong ; 
Firmly her little hands grasping the reins. 
Held them as firmly as lovers in chains.' 

" I think the echoes of her merry voice must linger 
yet among the old woods which skirt the Hancock 
road. Sure I am that the dwellers in the road-side 
farm-houses yet remember Frank Leigh's dashing 
equipage, and the gay couple with whom it used to 
fly by their doors, at such flashing speed. 

"Beside his equestrian fancies, Frank was exceed- 
ingly prone to romantic excursions, and by the aid of 
the good-natured Mrs. L., who was nothing loath, led 
us upon a hundred wild adventures among the hills, 
to the great detriment of patent leather and super- 
fine broadcloth. Here, too, Nell was the co-leadei 
with the rattle-brain heir ; never a ramble ended 
until she had joined him in one mad-cap feat or 
another. 

" All this you may be sure gave ample room and 
verge enough for bitter tongues; but the sage con- 
clusion of one shrewd lady, that ' some folks could 
do what other folks couldn't,' soon came to be in sub- 
stance the universal sentiment. Indeed, with all 
Nelly's faults and follies, it was impossible, when you 
knew her, to think her capable of anything very 
wrong. 



100 TAGHCONIC. 

" One opinion, at least, every body held, and that"" 
was, that she was just the girl to charm Frank Leigh — 
and that she had charmed him to some purpose. 
Every body but my friend the widow, who, while 
she admitted the boldness and vigor of Ellen's attack, 
had a (Joubt or two as to its success. ' Ellen,' said 
the widow, '*has a splendid genius io: business, but 
very little experience. Do you not notice that Frank 
of late has another companion sometimes on his 
rides ? ' 

" ' What ! the timid and femininely delicate Miss 
P.?' 

" ' The same — and with what tender care he curbs 
his speed when she is his companion ? ' 

" ' It is very kind and considerate of him; the jolts 
and racing in which Ellen delights, would be the 
death of Miss P. I am sure it is good in him.' 

" ' Oh, very ! And yet is it not possible that she 
who tames the steed may tame the master ? ' 

" I admitted the notewoithiness of the fact, but 
trusted to the genius and address of my fair kins- 
woman for a successful issue of her siimmer cam- 
paign. Indeed, as the season waned, her star seemed 
to rise yet higher into the ascendant, while she re- 
laxed no whit of her zeal, but cut madder freaks, 
rode more daringly, was more than ever the constant 
companion of Frank, who, although he daily took a 
quiet drive with Miss P., seemed more than ever de- 
voted to her dashing rival.' Everybody said Frank 
had proposed, was about to propose, or at least was 
in honor bound to propose, to my cousin. He was 



OUR friend's story. 101 

set down as certain of the fair hands which so grace- 
fully reined in his fiery coursers. Only the widow 
shook her curls and Miss P. said nothing. 

"One bright morning in September, just before 
the close of the season, Ellen was sitting in the draw- 
ing room, surrounded as usual by a group of loung- 
ers — among whom were Mr. Vinton, a gentleman 
of singularly reserved and quiet manners, and said to 
be very timid — and a Miss Phoebe N., a young lady 
who, in spite of nose and eyes equally awry with her 
temper, was supposed to be about to seize the quiet 
gentleman, vi et armis. 

" ' So Frank Leigh has taken us all by surprise, 
and married,' said some one, joining the group. 

" ' Married ! ' * No ? ' ' You don't mean it. ' How ! ' 
* When ? ' ' To whom ? ' exclaimed a dozen voices 
at once — the speakers, of course, fixing their eyes 
considerately upon Nell: except Miss N,, who was 
enabled to turn only one of hers that way, but an- 
swered : 

" ' Oh, to that stupid Miss P. I saw them depart 
this morning.' 

" ' I am sure you would not so speak, if you knew 
her,' said Ellen, indignantly. ' On the contrary, she 
is a sweet, sensible, and witty girl.' 

" ' Rather too quiet for me,' mildly remarked the 
very quiet Mr. Vinton. 

" *I don't see why you should defend her,' snarled 
the amiable Phoebe to Ellen. ' She has carried off 
the prize we all assigned to you.' 

" ' To me ! ' exclaimed Ellen with real laughter 



102 TAGHCOXIC 

aud well affected surprise; 'I am sure I am much 
obliged to toit all. Frank is a noble fellow; but do 
you know, I should have an unconquerable aversion 
to being rivalled bv dogs and horses? — and of 
course ' Lightning' and ' Ney ' will hold equal place 
in Frank's heart with his wife.' 

" ' But we,' began Miss N., with a malicious look — 

" ' But me no buts ! ' exclaimed Ellen, interrupt- 
ing her; ' I would sooner marrv a cobbler than a 
horse-jockey, be he never so rich ! ' 

"Mr. Yinton looked radiantly happy; MissPhcebe 
darkeningly the reverse, for it was her ' one woe of 
of life ' that her father had begun his ascent to wealth 
in the respectable calling of a cobbler. Ellen saw 
where her shot hit, and then cast a penetrating 
glance at Vinton, in whose face she read more than 
she had suspected." 

Here the bachelor paused for breath. " And so,'* 
said I, " Miss Ellen lost her summer's work." 

"Not at all," he replied resuming; "you shall 
hear. Frank Leigh did not choose to fall in love 
with a woman who rivalled him in the accomplish- 
ments of which he was most proud. Even so sensi- 
ble a fellow as he had a spice of hiiman vanity — 
quite enough to cause htm to prefer Miss P., who 
admired his daring feats, to Nelly, who demanded 
that he should admire hers, and showed, moreover, 
to all the world that they were not beyond the attain- 
ment of a very slight-framed woman. Besides, he 
could too readily \inderstand all that Nell felt, said, 
and did; it is not the near view which charms. 



ouE friend's stoby. 103 

" Poor Vinton, however, looking on from a dis- 
tance, became every day more enamored; — the 
qualities which Ellen displayed proved so much the 
more fascinating from their very strangeness to his 
own nature. But it is in vain to philosophize about 
these matters; Vinton, like many a sensible fellow 
before and since, contrived to get hopelessly into the 
meshes before he thought of asking how; and the 
moment he saw the field clear, resolved to occupy 
the vacant lovership. 

Our light-hearted Ariadne I suspect was secretly 
piqued at her desertion; at all events, she gave the 
new lover a world of encouragement. Indeed, so 
rapidly did affairs advance, that the same afternoon 
Mr. Vinton, in a tremor of fear, made a formal pro- 
posal — and was at once accepted. Still more to his 
joy, Ellen consented — if Miss Phoebe is to be be- 
lieved, proposed, that the union should take place 
that same evening. So soon after the demolition 
of her hopes, Ellen reached their consummation, 
and was a ' gentleman's wife.' " 

" A queer wooing," I said, when the bachelor had 
concluded. " Was the result happy ? " 

" Why, the chances were rather against it," he re- 
plied; "but fate often treats us better than we de- 
serve. The result, I believe, was happy for both." 

" And how about the widow and yourself ? " 

" Is not that the moon rising yonder ? " said the 
bachelor. 



VII. 

ON PERRY'S PEAK. 

Profit and pleasure, then, to mix with art, 
T'infoiin the judgment, nor offend the heart. 
Shall gain all votes. — Anatomie of Melancholy. 



Of all pic-nics in which many people join, com- 
mend me to a scientific field-meeting. I do not 
compare that, or anything else, with hours like those 
"we passed by the lakeside. The things are too diverse 
for comparison. Nor do I mean to say that, for once 
in a while, a merry masquerade in the glamour of 
the woods, or among the weird rocks of Icy Glen, 
has not unique charms. But a little science gives a 
zest always fresh, and a flavor always piquant, never 
cloying, to the enjoyment of large bodies of fairly 
well-educated excursionists. 

To go out with a multitude in the vague expecta- 
tion of a day's pleasure, even in the most romantic 
regions, often results in pure weariness of spirit. 
We ai*e all true heirs of the old hunter races. Our 
joy is in pursuit; and the more definite the object of 
the chase, the keener the pleasure. That is what 
makes him who has an aim in life the happy man. 
That is what inspires alike the gold-hunter in the 



perry's peak. 106 

sands of California and the planet-seeker among the 
stars of heaven. It is the old instinct inherited 
from Nimrod and his fellow huntsmen. Or shall we 
trace it, far back of these, to progenitors in the Dar- 
winian eons ? Surely my highly civilized cat shows 
indications of sharing it, when she leaves the rodent 
trophies of her chase untasted, to partake of my own 
meal. Clearly her enjoyment is more purely in the 
pursuit, than is his who kills the deer, and eats the 
venison. 

But the point from which I have wandered, is this; 
an excursion-pic-nic should, if we would gain the most 
and the highest enjoyment from it, have a more dis- 
tinct purpose than the mere passing of a few hours 
among pleasant or romantic scenery. 

I have already attempted to paint the delights of 
the genial, unrestrained ^ocial intercourse of a few 
friends in the freedom of the woods; but in a multi- 
tudinous picnic there is no place for that — every 
hindrance to it. The snobs who affect it are mere 
kill-joys and mar-plots. The pic-nic excursion should 
have an aim common to all its members; and all 
should join in it, I will take it for granted that you 
would not desire that aim to be attendance upon a 
cock-fight, a pugilistic mill, a horse-race, or a Fourth 
of July celebration, A camp-meeting might do; 
but even if one were at hand, the spirit is not always 
willing, however it may be with the flesh: just re- 
versing the scriptural dilemma. The field-meeting, 
as conducted by the scientific associations of several 
New Tork and New England towns and cities, seems 



106 TAGHCONIC. 

to meet the want precisely, furnishing interesting 
objects of pursuit to all intelligent persons, and, for 
the most part, eliminating all others from the pic-niQ, 

This is a peculiarly American device, essentially 
differing from the lawn-meeting of an English village 
institute, as described by Tennyson in his introduc- 
tion to The Princess: And the difference well illus- 
trates that in the genius of the two nations. The 
associations under whose auspices our field-meetings 
are held do not seek a patron in any neighboring 
great or rich man ; nor are their pic-nics designed to 
teach the rudiments, or exhibit the common wonders, 
of science to rustic villagers. The leaders are often 
leaders, as well, of scientific opinion, investigation 
and progress, while their associates are generally- 
qualified to aid intelligently in their labors. 

These field-meetings — designed partly as a relaxa- 
tion in the intervals of more severe study, and partly 
to keep alive a popular interest in science — are held 
in neighborhoods where there is a chance that new 
facts may be elicited, or which present features, in- 
timate acquaintance with which is in itself culture: 
which contain spots either picturesque, possessed of 
interesting historical associations, or inviting as a 
field for scientific research. Generally they combine 
all these attractions. 

The addresses which close and crown the day, are 
no dry rehearsals of book-lore, but vivacious descrip- 
tion and discussion of what the day has brought to 
light. There is of course no time for minute investi- 
gation or profound study, but clews are struck, to 



perry's peak. 107 

be followed up afterwards, valuable collections are 
made; and, above all, "thought is quickened and 
awakes." 

Doubtless there is also a great deal of fun and 
flirtation not strictly scientific; nor yet, perhaps, 
wholly otherwise: ending sometimes, I am sure, in 
the illustration of an entirely natural science, to which 
so renowne'd a philosopher as Plato long ago gave 
his best thought, and a name which is too often taken 
in vain. But when were hundreds of people, mostly 
young men and women, ever thrown together in 
pic-nic, even of the Sunday-school variety, without 
something of that kind happening ? It was said of 
old: 

" Who marks in church time others symmetry, 
Makes all their beauty, his deformity." 

And yet I have heard of rash young men, even in 
New England, " making eyes " across the most Puri- 
tanic of meeting-houses at blushing girls who, blush- 
ing, made eyes back again: both utterly reckless of 
any resultant ugliness. 

But, so far from there being any precept against 
love-making at a scientific pic-nic, there is absolutely 
a formula provided, suited to the occasion: 

" I love thee, Mary, and thou lovest me. 
Our mutual love is like the affinity 
That doth exist between two simple bodies : 
I am potassium to thy oxygen. — 
'Tis little that the holy marriage vow 
Shall shortly make us one. That unite 
Is, after all, but metaphysical. 
Oh, would that I, my Mary, were an acid, 



108 TAGHCONIC. 

A living acid ; thou an alkali. 

Endowed with human sense, that brought together 

We might coalesce into one salt, 

One homogeneous crescile.* ***** 

And thus, our several natures sweetly blent 

We'd live and love together until death 

Should decompose this fleshly tertium quid, 

Leaving our souls to all eternity 

Amalgamated. Sweet, thy name is Brown, 

And mine is Johnson, wherefore should not we 

Agree to form a Johnsonate of Brown ?" 

The scientific field-meeting being a pot-pourri of 
solid meats, rich juices and spicy relishes, you will 
readily believe is among the choicest of our Berk- 
shire pleasures; especially when it is enjoyed in such 
good fellowship as the famous Essex and Albany Insti- 
tute and the Troy Scientific Association can furnish. 
The meeting to which I am going to invite you, 
however, shall consist of only our own home asso- 
ciation, with a few pleasant friends from Stoekbridge, 
Leaox, and Richmond: a sort of family dinner 
as it were. 

Perry's Peak is the highest summit of one of the 
largest mountain masses in the Tacouic range, which, 
like many of the others, has several minor promi- 
nences. It rises one thousand and thirty feet from 
its base, which itself has an altitude of one thousand 
and fifty feet above the sea level. A large part of 
the upper surface of the mountain, including the 
peak, is bare of trees, and often of soil also; and as 
the neighboring hills do not press very close upon it, 
it affords some of the broadest, grandest, and most 



perry's peak. 109 

picturesque views to be witnessed from any point in 
Berkshire, extending to Greylock on the north, Mt. 
Washington on the south, the Catskills on the west 
and the Hoosacks on the east. 

In the south the Taghconics proudly raise their 
noble dome against the sky, while nearer, for an in- 
terval, they present the appearance of pyramidal 
summits, the conventional form in which the ab- 
stract mountain range is represented, but which this 
rarely assumes to the eye, and never in reality. The 
far-off Catskills can sometimes hardly be told from 
the massive clouds which overhang and mingle with 
them. You will be told that, from the Peak, steamers 
can be seen passing on the Hudson : but, for that pur- 
pose, you may as well be provided with a good field- 
glass; and, unless the day be very favorable, with the 
eye of faith also. No doubt it is well to keep the 
latter aid to vision in constant practice : you will find 
it as needful at a field, as at a camp, meeting. But 
I see little good in straining the natural eye in an 
attempt to discern, doubtfully at best, objects of 
merely curious interest, when such a grand and beau- 
tiful world lies within its easy range. 

For example, here at the western foot of the moun- 
tain gleams Whiting's Pond, better known to " the 
wide-wide world " as Queechy Lake, one of the 
prettiest lakelets among the hills. Upon the other 
side we look down upon Richmond Lake, another 
pietty sheet of water, and moreover a favorite of 
sportsmen. Eight miles away we see the spires of 

Pittsfield. Scattered all about are points of indi- 
10 



110 TAGHCOJ?IIC. 

vidual interest; but it is the grand coup d'' ceil, which 
it affords in several directions, that gives Perry's 
Peak its celebrity. 

Until recently one could easily and safely drive to 
the very topmost summit; but a few years ago a sum- 
mer tempest sent raging torrents down the mountain- 
8ide,cutting huge ravines out of the road, and burying 
acres of meadow under barren gravel-heaps: an in- 
teresting study for one inquisitive as to the Berkshire 
drift system, but distressful to the industrious farmer 
and the lazy excursionist. There is still, however, a 
tol<^rable road for the greater part of the height, and 
you may accomplish the rest without much trouble 
by driving " across lots." For equestrians, there is no 
difficulty. As I once approached the top of the Peak 
it Avas crowned by a well mounted group whose 
graceful figures "darkly painted on the clear blue 
sky " made a striking picture which I should be sorry 
to think it impossible to repeat. 

Thus easy of ascent, and temptingly accessible from 
Lenox, Lebanon Springs and Pittsfield, it is no wonder 
that the Peak has long been a favorite mountain re- 
sort, although it has no such romantic interest as that 
with which Bryant has invested Monument Moun- 
tain, nor such poetic fame as Dr. Holmes, Mrs. 
Kemble and Thoreau, have conferred upon Greylock. 
It remains unsung, although a poet of no mean 
powers and with hereditary obligation to do it honor, 
was born almost at its foot. The reason possibly is 
that its charms are in the views from, not of, it. 
Its individuality, although decided, is not of the 



pebky's peak. Ill 

character which at once strike either the eye or the 
imagination. 

The celebrity of the Peak is in the world of science, 
and there it has hardly a rival among the hills of 
New England; its fame however, to confess the 
truth, being less due to any startling wonders of its 
own than to the puzzling geological phenomena of 
the region of which it is the conspicuous head and 
centre. It was these, together with its superb over- 
views, which led our Scientific Association to select 
Perry's Peak as the theater for their celebration of 
the one hundredth anniversary of the birth of Alex- 
ander Yon Humboldt. Think of a celebration which 
extended from the crowded capitals of Europe to 
the lonely mountain tops of New England, When 
did kingly conqueror have glory like that ? 

The most uniformly delicious week in the Berk- 
shire year is the second in September. " Then, if 
ever, come perfect days." And the day of ou:r anni- 
versary — the fourteenth of the month, was absolutely 
perfect. The universal voice proclaimed it entitled 
to the biggest boulder of the purest quartz on Crystal 
Hill, if ever day deserved to be " marked with a 
white stone." 

By the courtesy of the occasion, the party which 
ascended the mountain, that bright September day, 
was presumed to be an intellectual one, but it required 
no presumption to pronounce it a glad company, 
and the merriment was no worse for the attempt to 
give it a learned flavor. The result, whether a failure 
or a success as to the original intention, was always 



112 TAGHCONIC. 

funny enough to provoke a laugh that was genuine, 
if the wit was not. 

Reaching the summit we assembled on a spot 
marked by the coast survey, as 2089 feet above the 
sea level. All around us the bare ledges were scored 
with parallel groovings on broadly polished surfaces 
and bore other distinct niai^ks of glacial action. 
Within a few rods were strewn those wonderful 
boulders whose story has puzzled so manj'^ learned 
heads. And there, with the tumbled ridges of four 
grand mountain-chains in view, and the purest of 
sapphire skies over-hanging all, we found as fitting 
a spot as could be desired to commemorate the cen- 
tennial birthday of the great naturalist. 

The formal exercises of the celebration, if they 
could be called formal, were brief and simple. Pro- 
fessor William C. Richards — poet, orator and 
naturalist — displayed a superb photograph of Hum- 
boldt — taken at Bez'lin and approved by its subject — 
and, with a brief introduction, read an appropriate 
ode full of poetic thought and feeling. 

Then, after an inspection of the evidences of 
glacial action on the Peak, we betook ourselves to a 
cool and pleasant grove, in which lay one of the 
largest of the famous Richmond boulders: and there, 
with appetites of mountainous proportions, discussed 
our pic-nic dinner. 

While thus agreeably engaged, we learned that 
the Peak took its name from the Rev. David Perry, 
who owned lands here and elsewhere in the town of 
Richmond, in which he was the second ministei 



« 



perkt's peak. 113 

of the gospel. Mr. Perry was rather a liberal as 
liberality went with the New England clergy of his 
day: that is, although a Federalist, as it was natural 
for a Massachusetts Congregational minister to be, 
he kept on good terms with his clerical brother of 
the next town, who was a flaming Democrat; I have 
no doubt that he could, and did often, dine with the 
only Episcopalian rector in the county, without any 
conviction of a neglect of duty in failing to smother 
him in his own popish surplice. Nevertheless, I 
fancy it would have given the good old gentleman a 
strange sensation could he have dreamed that profane 
philosophers would come from the ends of the earth 
to find, in his own personal and ecclesiastical domain, 
evidence that the world was no more made in six 
days than Rome was built in one; and I do not know 
what would have happened to him had he foreseen 
that one of his own descendants, in no very distant 
generation, would give himself to conducting a news- 
paper so devoted to the fleeting pleasures of this life 
as the New York Home Journal. It is fortunate, 
after all, that even ministers are but short-sighted 
mortals. I dare say that, if the sainted pastor is now 
able to look down and see all that has come «bout 
so strangely, he regards it with the same equanimity 
which his successors in office manifest. 

The dinner over, we devoted ourselves to the more 
strictly scientific work of the day, first listening to 
the story of the boulders from the lips of their vene- 
rable discoverer. But, as I purpose to go into that 
story somewhat at large, I will make it the subject 
of another section. 



vm. 

THE RICHMOlsTD BOULDER TRAINS. 

" One must go back to an age before all history ; an age 
whicli cannot be measured by years or centuries ; an age 
sbrouded in mysteries and to be spoken of only in guesses. 
To assert anything positively concerning that age, or ages, 
would be to show the rashness of ignorance. ' I think that 
I believe,' ' I have good reason to suspect,' ' 1 seem to see,' are 
the strongest forms of speech which ought to be used, over a 
matter so vast and as yet so little elaborated." — Kingsley^s 
Idylls. 



TEN MILLION YEARS AGO. 

It may have been only one million years ago that 
the events I am to speak of occurred; but I put it at 
ten to cover accidents. It may have been less, or 
perhaps more; the record is not so precise as could 
be wished if title to real estate depended upon it. 
But for our present purpose the vague measurement 
of the unnumbered eons of geology gives a more ade- 
quate conception of their immensity than could be 
obtained from the most definite statement in num- 
bers, even if we knew it to be exact: the mind is so 
apt to fancy it has a full appreciation of such a 
statement whereas it really has not the slightest. 

Let me give you a general, outline of the physical 



THE RICHMOND BOULDER TRAINS. 115 

geography of our hills as described by Dr. Palfrey 
in his History of New England, on the authority of 
Professor Guyot. 

" Only moderate elevations present themselves along the 
greater part of the New England coast. Inland the great 
topographical feature is a double belt of highlands, separated 
almost to their bases by the deep and broad valley of the Con. 
necticut River, and running parallel to each other, from the 
south-south- west to the north-north-east,till, around the sources 
of that river, they unite 'in a wide space of tabl e land, from 
which streams descend in diflFerent directions." 

" To regard these highlands, which form so important a 
feature in New England geography, as simply two ranges of 
hills, would not be to conceive of them aright. They are vast 
swells of land, of an average elevation of a thousand feet above 
the level of the sea, each with a width of forty or fifty miles, 
from which asfrom a base, mountains rise in chains or isolated 
groups to an altitude of several thousand feet more." 

•' In structure the two belts are unlike. The western 
system, which bears the general name of the Green Mountains, 
is composed of two principal chains [the Taghconics, or 
Taconics, on the east, the Hoosacs on the west], more or less 
continuous, covered, like several shorter ones which run alongr 
them, with the forests and herbage to which they owe their 
name. Between these, a longitudinal valley can be traced, 
though with some interruptions, from Connecticut to Northern 
Vermont. In Massachusetts and Connecticut, it is marked by 
the Housatonic [and the Hoosack] ; in Vermont by the rich 
basins which hold the villages of Bennington, Manchester and 
Rutland, and farther on by valleys of less note. * * * 

" The mountains have a regular increase from south to 
north. From a height of less than a thousand feet in Con- 
necticut, they rise to an average of twenty-five hundred feet 
in Massachusetts, where the majestic Qreylock, isolated be- 
tween the two chains, lifts its head to the stature of thirty-five 
hundred feet. In Vermont, Equinox and Stratton Mountains 



116 TAGHCONIC. 

near Manchester are thirty-seven hundred feet ; Killington 
Peak, near Rutland, rises fortj-two hundred feet ; Mansfield 
Mountain, at the northern extremity, overtops the rest of the 
Green-Mountain range with an altitude of forty-four hundred 
feet. 

" The rise of the valley is less regular. In Connecticut its 
bottom is from five hundred to seven hundred feet above the 
level of the sea. In Southern Berkshire it is eight hundred 
feet ; it rises thence two hundred feet to.Pittsfield, and one 
hundred more to the foot of Greylock ; whence it declines to 
the bed of the Housatonic in one direction and to an average 
height of little more than five hundred feet in Vermont on the 
other. Thus it is in Berkshire county that the western swell 
presents, if not the most elevated peaks, yet the most compact 
and elevated structure." 

Besides the shorter ranges, mentioned by Dr. 
Palfrey as lying along the Taconics and Hoosacs, the 
Berkshire valley is everywhere broken by spurs from 
the main chains and by hills, often of magnitude. 
The mass of up-tumblings and down-pxillings which 
meets the eye that looks down upon it from some 
elevated point, is a marvel and a joy to the geologist. 
We have locally been accustomed to regard the un- 
derlying rocks — chiefly mica schists of different 
grades, crystaline limestones, quartzite and green- 
stone — as belonging to the very earliest formations. 

Thirty or forty years ago, Professor Emmons 
maintained a hard fight against cruel odds, to es- 
tablish that theory, and we fancied his victory com- 
plete. But now comes a newer, and very high, au- 
thority. Professor Dana, and relying upon the evidence 
of certain Vermont fossils, denies to our rocks any 



THE EICHMOND BOULDER TRAINS, 117 

antiquity greater than the earliest period of the older 
Silurian epoch; not much, if at all, more than a hun- 
dred million years: and that likely to be fearfully 
cut down if certain still later theorists upon the ages 
prevail. 

I suppose I shall be told that we must submit to 
be thus deposed from our high estate and ranked 
among comparative parvenues; mere rocks of the 
second order, ^iit 

"On what compulsion must we? Tell me that." 

The newest geologist is only infallible, while he is 
the newest; an arrant brevity. Never, within all the 
borders of Berkshire, in schist or quartz, in marble or 
greenstone, in dyke or bed-rock, ice-ground gravel or 
unburied boulder, was there ever found the slightest 
trace of organic forms, animal or vegetable: and 
shall our pure azoic rocks be robbed of their virgin 
fame because the Rev. Augustus Wing has detected 
the slip of a frail distant relative up in Vermont, a 
hundred million years ago ? Worse accidents than 
that happen in the most primitive families. 

To be sure, our rocks have been gi-eatly meta 
niorphosed, and there is indisputable evidence oi 
violent heat in their impressible youth; but does thai 
]jrove that their metamorphoses were like Ovid's \ 
My Berkshire blood is up, and, if I were younger, ] 
would myself ride a geological tilt in their defense 
as it is, I summon some youthful champion to put or 
his armor of proof, and try a joust with this renownert 
knight of the hammer. Let him show that our old 
mountain ridges are the very "bones of time;" not 



118 TAGHCONIC. 

fossil bones by any means, but the veritable rock- 
ribs of mother earth. But, until such champion shall 
appear, we will, for the sake of peace, and in sub- 
mission to the geologic ruler of the hour, admit that 
we are only Silurians. It might have been worse; 
for, after all, the Welsh is a good old stock. 

At any rate, the rocks are there in very palpable 
mountains. Azoic or Silurian as you please; and they 
are covered far up their sides, if not to their very 
summits, by immense deposits of drift, composed of 
rounded and rolled fragments of all sizes from the 
huge boulder to the finest sand. The same drift 
covers the valley ; stones of all sizes and of every 
variety which could be torn from the neighboring 
hills, being jumbled together in utter confusion as 
to size, the largest often being at the top; as you 
may see finely exemplified on Jubilee Hill in Pitts- 
field and elsewhere. But, with regard to the pre- 
vailing rocks which compose it, the position in which 
they lie, and in other particulars, you will find the 
drift of different localities marked by distinct indi- 
vidual characteristics. Even in regard to size, con- 
fusion is not absolutely universal: you will find many 
gravel beds beautifully strati^.ed in this respect : but, 
as compared with the great mass of drift, these are 
exceptional. These queerly tumbled beds and piles 
of drift afford an altogether curious study; and one 
in which there are few adepts. I commend it to you 
as a summer recreation on the whole preferable to 
trouting; although, if you persist in gratifying your 



THE KIOHMOND BOULDER TRAINS. 119 

murderous propensities, you may pleasantly com- 
bine the two. 

Scattered all over this loose, stony formation, 
which clothes the rocks of hill and valley as muscles 
clothe bones, is still another deposit of boulders, 
generally of considerable size and often very large. 
They are easily distinguished from the underlying 
drift; not being, like it, either buried, smoothed or 
rounded, but exposed, rough and angular, except 
when sometimes, their upper surface is worn to a 
rude dome shape. Neither the boulders or the drift 
are at all peculiar to Berkshire. Similar formations 
cover a large portion of the Northern hemisphere. 
The phenomenon which has drawn hither so many 
eminent geologists is the occasional arrangement of 
the exposed boulders in well-defined trains; which 
is exceptional, if not unique, so far as observations 
have been made and published. 

These remarkable trains were discovered, about 
the year 1840, by Dr. Stephen Reed, who, as Pre- 
sident of our Scientific Association, led our field- 
meeting on Perry's Peak. When the feast was over, 
that day, and we had fraternized with our genial 
and hospitable Richmond hosts, we listened to local 
story, told by venerable speakers from Lenox and 
Stockbridge, concerning Parson Perry, the second 
minister, and his parishioner. Col. Rossiter, who, as 
second in command of the Berkshire militia at the 
Battle of Bennington, did good service; recalling his 
men from plundering to fighting, and thereby saving 



120 TAGHCONTC. * 

the day which was well nigh lost after it had been 
once won. 

When we had thus done due honor to some of the 
old-time local worthies, our venerable president — 
who might well have served the most fastidious 
painter as a model for " an old geologist " — told the 
story of his discovery, illustrating his method very 
simply. " If," said he " you should see a cart loaded 
with apples of a peculiar variety, which, dropping 
from a leaky tail-board, were strewn all the way 
back to a certain orchard which alone bore that 
kind of fruit, you would have no difficulty in deter- 
mining where that apple train came from." 

By a similar process it is easy to trace the princi- 
pal, and most perfect, of the Richmond Boulder 
Trains to its source; since it is an exceedingly well 
deiined and nearly continuous succession of large 
angular masses of a peculiar chloritic schist, wholly 
unlike the general bed-rocks of the vicinity, and also 
differing totally from most of the neighboring 
boulders. 

Following up this train, Dr. Reed found it termi- 
nate, three miles north-Avest of the Richmond meet- 
ing-house, on the summit of Fry's Hill, the highest, 
and almost the central point of the Canaan Mountains 
in Columbia county, N, Y. ; one of the short ranges 
Avhich run along the Taconics. The top of this hill 
is composed of a chloritic schist, precisely like that 
of the boulders, and unlike any other bed-rock in all 
that region. Of course no doubt remained of the 
source of that train, and its discoverer, retracing his 



THE BICHMOND BOULDER TRAINS. 121 

steps, continued his investigations until he had 
followed it in the opposite direction across the towns 
of Richmond, Lenox and Lee, some ten or twelve 
miles in all. He believed that it reached still further, 
and perhaps even to Connecticut. I think he after- 
wards obtained some evidence that this supposition 
was correct, but of how conclusive a nature I cannot 
say. Subsequently he found another train of the 
chloritic schist, originating, like the first, on the 
Canaan Mountains, and five of limestone derived 
from the Taconic range; but none so complete as 
the first. 

In 1842, Dr. Reed published an account of his 
discovery in the "Lenox Farmer," predicting for 
the boulders a host of distinguished visitors and a 
wide fame; a prophecy which has been amply veri- 
fied; for during his life he piloted among them, 
Dr. Birney of Boston, Professors Chester Dewey, 
Hitchcock, Hosford, Hall and the Brothers Rogers, 
Sir Charles Lyell, Count Pourtales, and Professor 
De Saurre. 

Dr. Reed, in his first paper at least, contented 
himself with simply describing the boulder train. 
The apple-cart by which it was strewn had long 
disappeared, and he did not attempt to restore it 
from his imaginings, doubtless knowing full well 
that, if he did, the next geologist who came along 
would make it his first business to upset it. 

Some of his visitors, however, were not so discreet, 
and the result has been a dozen or more learned 
11 



122 TAGHCO>nC. 

essays, ol -vrhich the most interesting are those of 
Sir Chai'les Lyell and Rev. John B. Perry. 

Lyell in his " Antiquity of Man," gives a spirited 
account of his visit and a graphic description of the 
rocks, making some very fascinating reading. His 
theory, to use the condensation of another, is that 
" at the time of the drift period, the highest points 
of the Canaan, Richmond and Lenox ranges formed 
chains of islands in an ocean; and that the gaps in 
the Richmond and Lenox ransres were straits throuofh 
which floated ice-bergs bearing the chloritic blocks 
from the exposed parts of the Canaan range, and 
dropping them in their present positions." So 
strongly did this notion impress itself upon Sir 
Charles,- that he illustrated his work with a view of 
the islands, and the rock-laden ice-floes — not ice- 
bere:s — floating between them. He has also sci"ven 
views of some of the larger boulders, and a diagram 
of the seven trains. 

Mr. Perry " divides the boulders which rest upon 
the surface of the drift into two classes, according as 
they are rounded or angular: those which make up 
the trains being rounded, while the angular are 
distributed without definite arrangement. He con- 
siders that the trains owe their formation to the move- 
ment of the general ice-mass which rested upon the 
region during the glacial period; the boulders, which 
are found in trains; and which he believes to be 
rounded [dome-topped ? ] having been torn from pro- 
minent peaks, and forced along under the ice-sheet, 
while the scattered ones were transported to their 



THE RICHMOND BOULDER TRAINS. 123 

present position much later, when the ice-mass had 
become so much reduced in thickness that the peaks in 
question projected above the surface, so that masses of 
rock could be lodged upon the ice as well as dragged 
along under it. 

Since Dr. Reed's death, which occurred in 18V6, 
Mr. E. 11. Benton, of Boston has made an exhaustive 
survey of the locality of the boulders and a thorough 
study of their phenomena, and has published the 
result in a pamphlet of forty-two pages, forming 
Number Three of the Fifth Volume of the Bulletin 
of the Harvard College Museum of Comparative 
zoology. Odd, is it not, that of the three best 
treatises upon these rocks — which, however we may 
class them, show not the slightest vestige oi. animal 
or vegetable life — one should be found in a work 
upon the antiquity of man, and another in a bulletin 
of zoology ? Is then the absence of life the com- 
plement of its presence, as well before as after its 
existence upon this earth ? 

But, wherever we may find Mr. Benton's paper, let 
us be thankful for it: for it is the most complete, 
satisfactory and philosophical essay upon its subject, 
which we have, or are likely to have, unless he him- 
self pursues it further. 

Having given a concise resume of the statements 
and opinions of his predecessors, Mr. Benton pro- 
ceeds to a geological and topographical description 
of the Boulder Region, which is illustrated by maps 
showing the contours of the hills, their bed rocks and 



124 TAGHCONIC. 

the course of the trains. I condense his description 
of the principal and best defined train. 

The crest of Fry's Hill in the town of Canaan, has 
an elevation of six hundred and twenty feet above the 
track of the Boston and Albany railroad in Rich- 
mond, which is one thousand and fifty feet above the 
level of the sea. This crest, extending one hundred 
and fifty feet down from its summit, is composed of 
a fine-grained foliaceous mica chloritic schist, very 
tough and of a green color. It is identical with the 
boulders of the main train, is of narrow extent here, 
and has been found, in place, in only one other locality 
on the range. To its limited extent Mr. Benton attri- 
butes the distinctness of the train, whose width varies 
from two hundred and fifty to five hundred feet; the 
difference being caused apparently by the varying 
contours of the hills in its path. 

From the summit of Fry's Hill the train descends 
in a south 54° east direction; then bends gradually 
to the southward till, at the base of the range, it 
has a south 27° east direction. Thence it extends 
just south of the North Family of the Shakers, and 
up the face and along the crest of a westerly spur 
of the Richmond range, called Merriman's Mount, 
to the crest of the westei'n branch of the ran are. 
In so doing it gradually changes its direction, to 
south 68° east; and so crosses the Haskell valley and 
begins the descent of the Richmond range. In 
making this descent, it bends considerably to the 
south, crossing the main road in Richmond two 
miles north of the railroad station, till it attains a 



THE EICHMOND BOULDER TBAINS. 125 

south 26° east direction, where it crosses the railroad. 
From the railroad the train continues on across the 
Richmond valley, but curves to the eastward as it 
mounts the western slope of the Lenox range 
crosses its two parallel ridges and descends into the 
Lenox and Stockbridge valley, where its direction is 
south 50° east. A half a mile south-east of Mr. 
Luther Butler's house, near the Lenox and Stock- 
bridge line, the train seems to lose its continuous 
character; the chloritic schist boulders in the same 
line, to the south-east, being few, small, and widely 
separated. 

Far the largest boulders of the train, averaging 
fifteen feet in length — are found on the eastern 
slope of the Canaan range; two of them measuring 
ninety and one hundred and twenty-five feet in cir- 
cumference respectively, and being about thirty feet 
in hight. On the western slope of this range there 
are no chloritic schist boulders. Near the Lebanon 
Shakers they average twelve feet in length; one 
having a circumference of seventy-five feet. Lyell 
mentions two with circumferences of seventy and 
one hundred and twenty feet respectively, and a 
hight of twenty feet above the soil, lying two miles 
north of Richmond station. Thence there is a con- 
stant diminution in size until, in the Lenox and 
Stockbridge valley, the average length does not ex- 
(leed two feet. 

By the Richmond range, Mr. Benton means that 
portion of the Taconic Mountains which lies in 
Richmond and the adjoining town of Canaan on the 



126 TAGHCONIC. 

west; and is separated by a narrow valley from the 
Canaan or Columbia range. Fry's Hill is two and 
half miles south of Douglas Knob, the picturesque 
elevation which almost overhangs Columbia Hall, 
and forms the northern terminus of the range. 

The Lenox range is a spur thrown off by the 
Taconics at Egremont, which, broken by the Williams 
River at West Stockbridge, extends north-eastward 
to Pittsfield, where it terminates in South Mountain 
and Melville Hill. Its domes and peaks form some 
of the most striking and beautiful features in the 
views, looking north from the Lenox, and south from 
the Pittsfield valley; while its southern extension, 
n-aching to Stockbi'idge, is filled with the most de- 
licious scenery. 

But to return to the Boulder trains; Mr. Benton 
examined three others, all less continuous and com- 
posed of smaller blocks than the first; but he failed 
to find the chloritic schists, in place, upon the 
points in the Canaan range to which they led, and 
this, as well as the imperfection in the trains, he 
attributed to the early exhaustion of the knobs of 
this rock which formerly crested this ridge at in- 
tervals, but were of inferior thickness to that on the 
summit of Fry's Hill. 

He speaks generally of certain other curious but 
promiscuously scattered boulders, and of limestone 
trains; but appears to have been discouraged as to 
the latter by the inaccuracies of previous writers. 
All the three ranges mentioned exhibit marks of 
ghicial action wherever their" beds are exposed; but 



THE RICHMOND BOULDER TRAINS. 127 

none of them send out trains of boulders except the 
Canaan, as few others anywhere do. The explana- 
tion is found in the sharpness and narrow limits of 
Fry's Hill, and of the other, now obliterated, knobs 
of chloritic schist, in which the trains, undoubtedly 
had their origin. 

In accounting for the transportation of the boul- 
ders to the positions in wh'ch they are now found, 
Mr, Benton discards Lyell's theory of floating ice, 
since it implies that, during the period in which they 
were deposited, the level of the ocean stood above 
the crest of the Canaan range, or sixteen hundred 
and fifty feet higher than it now does. Other 
writers have shown that the same line of reasoning 
which leads to Lyell's conclusions would require a 
depression of parts of the glaciated region to a 
depth of five thousand feet below their present 
level: a depression which all the evidence indicates 
did not exist. 

Mr. Benton's own solution of the problem is 
based upon the fact, now generally admitted by 
geologists, that in the Post-Pliocene age, this 
region, in common with a large part of the northern 
hemisphere, was covered with an ice-sheet several 
thousand feet thick, which had a slow motion in 
this district from the north-west to the south-east. 
But he shows that the boulders could not have 
rested, and been borne along, upon the upper sur- 
face of this ice-sheet; since that pre-supposes cliflFs 
upon the Canaan range which towered above that 
surface, whereas an ice-sheet which could move 



128 TAGHCOinC. 

across valleys six hundred feet deep, without being 
'materially deflected from its course, must have 
covered the highest land to the depth of many hun- 
dred feet. Nor could the boulders have been dragged 
along under the ice-mass, without leaving marks of 
abrasion of which none are to be seen. 

It is probable, he thinks, that the boulders were 
torn from their original bed by the ice sheet, and 
became imbedded in its mass instead of being dragged 
along under it. The sharpness of the knob called 
Fry's Hill favors this supposition, since boulders torn 
from its upper j)art would be at least one hundred 
feet above the lower surface of the ice along the 
neighboring parts of the crest; and the mass, closing 
again as soon as it had passed the sharp knob, would 
hold many of them firmly in its grasp, without al- 
lowing them to reach the rocks below, until the ice- 
sheet had ceased its grinding march and was in 
process of dissolution. Nevertheless, under the in- 
cessant influence of gravity, the imbedded fragments 
would be constantly working ^their way downward, 
and many of them, finally reaching the under surface, 
would be ground up by the crunching, superincum- 
bent, moving mass; and the farther from the source, 
the greater would be the amount of material lost to 
the trains, and added to the underlying gravel beds. 

In condensing a portion of Mr. Benton's essay, I 
have occasionally departed from the order of arrange- 
ment pursued by him, and have internolated, now 
and then, matter of my own, but I believe that I have 
given correctly the facts and theories presented by 



THE RICHMOND BOULDER TRAINS. 129 

him, so far as I have attempted to give them at all; 
often using his own language. But he enters much 
more into detail than it would be possible or proper 
for me to do here, and touches upon some allied topics 
to which I have not even alluded. His pamphlet 
should be in the hands of every student of the boulder 
phenomena, or of the superficial geology of this 
locality. 

The boulder and drift deposits in the valley at the 
base of the Taconics, north of Richmond, offer a 
fresh and interesting field of investigation. At 
some points there are indications of arrangement in 
trains; but, whether or not if followed up those in- 
dications should lead to discoveries of that character, 
they could not fail of valuable and curious results. 
Some of the local deposits of boulders are strikingly 
suggestive. I have already spoken of the Balanced 
Rock group. In the romantic town of New Marlboro', 
next east of Great Barrington, is another rocking 
stone, quite as firmly based, and with a more pro- 
nounced and easy oscillation. Between Onota street 
and Lake Onota, in Pittsfield, some most singular 
boulders are strewn. One variety is composed of 
what appears upon the surface to be a. net work, but 
in reality is a honey comb, of quartz cells filled 
with a hard schist. Sometimes cells, which were 
probably filled with a softer rock, are empty, leavmg 
a skeleton of quartz walls. Another variety of soft 
rock encloses rounded pebbles sometimes six or 
eight inches long. I think some summer or autumn 
days could be pleasantly passed in tracing these 



130 TAGHCONIC. 

queer erratics to their source, and trying to imagine 
how they were made; and when; and why. 

I fear I may have wearied some of you by dwell- 
ing so long upon a theme in which you perhaps take 
small interest. But, when you think of it, is it not 
after all a wondrous thing ? As strange as any marvel 
of the genii and, at the same time, if we can rightly 
read it, telling a tale as true as Holy Writ. If Sir 
Thomas Browne could properly call the moor-logs 
and fir trees found under ground in many parts of 
England, "the undated ruins of winds, floods and 
earthquakes," of what are these Berkshire boulders 
the ruins; and where is their date recorded? 

And now, one word more; that I may have the 
credit of, for once, closing a story with a sound moral 
lesson. The study of these rocks will aid you in the 
clear and conscious recognition of a truth, which I 
dare say you know already, but perhaps only in a 
dreamy, unthinking way. It is this, that in those 
immeasurable ages, matter was composed of the same 
elements and obeyed implicitly the same laws, which 
at this moment compose and govern it, both on this 
little spot of earth and in the illimitable heavens. 
AVhether there were intelligent eyes to watch them 
or not, rising and setting suns measured the days; 
and, if not here, by reason of cold, yet at our anti- 
podes, the procession of the Seasons marked the 
coming and the going of the year. For as yet we 
have only begun to approach that epoch, when science 
and revelation alike require us to believe that the 
earth was without form ajidvoid, and darkness was 
upon the face of the deep. 



IX. 

THE WIZARD'S GLEN. 



Right well I wote, most mighty soveraine, 

That all this famous antique historie 

Of some the abundance of an ydle braine 

Will judged be, and painted forgerie, 

Rather than matter of just memorie. Fairie Queene. 

A four miles' drive from our village brings the ex- 
cursionist to a deep gorge, now called the " Gulf," 
but known in the earlier and less sceptical days of 
the settlement as the "Wizard's Glen." It is the 
wildest scene in our immediate neighborhood. A 
narrow valley is enclosed by steep hills, covered far 
up their sides with the huge rectangular flint rocks 
which mark this whole mountain range. You see 
them scattered everywhere, from Greylock to Tagh- 
conic; but nowhere else — unless, perhaps, at Icy 
Glen or Monument Mountain. — piled up in such 
magnificent and chaotic profusion. It is as though 
an angry Jove had here thrown down some impious 
wall of the Heaven-defying Titans. Block lies heaped 
upon block, squared and bevelled, as if by more than 
mortal art; for of such adamantine hardness are they 
that never hand nor implement of man could carve 
them into symmetry. 



132 TAGHCONIC. 

In their desolation they seemed charmed to ever- 
histing chaugelessness; storm and sunshine leaA^e few 
traces npon them; the trickling stream wears no 
channel in their obdurate surface; only a falling 
thunderbolt sometimes splinters an uplifted crag, and 
marks its course by a scar of more livid whiteness. 
No flower springs from, no creeping plant clings to, 
them for support, save when the rare Herb Robert 
would fain cheer them with his tiny blossom; or 
some starveling lichen strives to shroud the livid 
ghastliness of their hues. 

It is a stern-featured place; and yet of a warm 
summer afternoon, one — no, not one, it is too in- 
tensely sombre for that — but a party can pass a 
merry hour there, in the cool depths of the ravine. 
There are some books too, written in a spirit akin to 
the fantastic and demoniac grandeur of the place, 
which can be read there with a double zest. Perched 
in the angle of a cleft boulder, I once keenly en- 
joyed some scenes in "Faust." "Manfred" would 
not be out of place there, nor would some parts of 
« Festus." 

But the best is, to mark how the most humanly 
merry laughter and the gentlest of gentle voices 
catch a fiendish echo from the rocky hollows. There is 
diablerie in the very air; the fairest form I ever knew, 
as it rose from behind one of those enchanted rocks, 
looked weird as Lilith, the first wife of Adam. He- 
cate herself could not have emerged from Hades 
with half the infernal grace and beauty; I am* sure 
the place is bewitched. 



wizard's glen. 133 

Tradition indeed says that, before the decay of 
the native tribes — of whom a scanty remnant were 
found by the white man in the valley of the Housa- 
tonic — this used to be a favorite haunt of the 
Indian priests, or wizards. Here, it was said, they 
wrought their hellish incantations, and with horrible 
rites offered up human sacrifices to Ho-bo-mo-ko, 
the Spirit of Evil. One broad, square rock, which 
chanced to stand alone in the midst of a conveniently 
clear space, had the credit of being the Devil's altar- 
stone. Some crimson stains marked its upper surface, 
upon M'hich the earlier settlers could not look with- 
out a shudder. They were believed to come from 
the blood of frequent victims — although, now-a- 
days, a sceptic with no analysis at all would find 
little difficulty in resolving them into " traces of 
iron ore." For my part, until the analysis is made, 
I hold fast to the older and better opinion of those 
who believed that around this ensanguined shrine a 
spectral crew of savage wizards nightly reenacted 
the revolting orgies of the past. 

I met, not long since, an old man of ninety 
winters — perhaps the last believer in their super- 
stitions. He had heard the story of the shadowy 
sacrifices from an eye-witness, and related it with a 
credulous simplicity very difficult to gainsay. 

Not far from the year 1770 (as he said), one John 

Chamberlain, a brave man and a mighty hunter, of 

Ashuelot (now Dalton), at the close of a hard day's 

chase, overtook and slew a deer, somewhere within 

12 



134 TAGHCONIC. 

the Wizard's Glen. While he was dressing his 
quarry, a terrific storm of thunder, lightning, and 
hail arose — as Chamberlain averred, with superna- 
tural celerity, as such often seem to do among the 
mountains. A thunder-storm, even in the ordinary 
course of nature, is not just the thing to be coveted 
in this place, by the hardiest deer-slayer; but come 
what will deer-slayers must make the best of it. 
Seeking out, therefore, a spot where the rocks were 
piled one upon another, with cavernous recesses that 
formed a sort of natural caravansary beneath, he 
drew his deer under one boulder and ensconced him- 
self snugly under the shelter of another. 

Thus protected, he betook himself to such slum- 
bers as he might get, which turned out to be not the 
. most peaceful. The thunder crashed, the lightning 
glared and the wind howled in a manner which seemed 
to our poor John altogether demoniacal. Sleep, in 
such a hurly-burly of the elements, was out of the 
question ; so, raising himself up, he looked out among 
the rocks, as he could very well do by the aid of 
the scarcely intermittent lightning. 

You may be sure that, with all his courage, our 
hunter was not quite pleased to find himself in full 
view of the Devil's altar-stone. It was an ugly pre- 
dicament, to say the least of it; but there was no 
help. in the case, and he had only to make the best 
he could of this also: which turned out to be bad 
enough again. His eyes once fixed upon it, the 
haunted spot kept them riveted by a terrible fascina- 
tion, while Chamberlain reflected upon his position 



I! 



wizard's glen. 135 

in a state of mind which was doubtless far enough 
from that of philosophic calmness. 

Very soon, however, his reflections were inter- 
rupted by a wilder rush of the storm, and a yet 
broader and more vivid flash of lightning, which 
illumined the whole valley and revealed "the horned 
- Devil himself, seated upon a broken crag and clothed 
in all the recognized paraphernalia of his royalty. 
Chamberlain thought him a very Indiany-looking 
devil indeed, which rather pleased him afterwards 
to tell, for he was no lover of the Indian race. 

This was apparently a gala night with Satan, 
although none of the guests were yet arrived. He 
was not now going to battle or to work, but rather 
to hold a royal drawing-room, by way of enjoying 
himself and receiving homage. His sable majesty 
has been too long intimate with earthly majesties 
and their courts, not to recognize the value of a 
becoming stateliness on the part of those who rule 
states, whether their capitals be here or below: 
, their subjects civilized or savage. He sat, therefore, 
on this occasion enthroned with a very commanding 
and royal grace, while the arrowy lightnings shot in 
circles around his head — very much, I judge, as you 
may have seen the swallows dart and soar of a sum- 
mer evening, around an old church steeple. 

His Majesty had not long to wait for his loving 
lieges, for suddenly from the ' darkness a huge, 
gaunt-framed wizard leaped out and mounted the 
altar-stone. If Chamberlain has not painted him 
blacker than he deserves, this high priest of Satan 



136 TAGHCONIC. 

was a most villainous-looking rascal. His raw- 
boned and ghastly visage was painted in most blood- 
thirsty ugliness; scalps, dripping with fresh blood, 
hung around his body in festoons; on his own scull, 
by way of scalp lock, burned a lambent blue flame; 
his distended veins shone through the bright copper- 
colored skin as if they were filled with molten fire 
for blood — and, as for his eyes, they glowed with a 
fiercer liarht than those of the arch-fiend himself; 



*& 



whence Chamberlain maintained that an Indian priest 
was at least one degree more devilish than the Devil 
himself. 

The present was evidently a very potent magi- 
cian, for at his call a throng of ghastly and horrible 
phantoms came pouring in from every nook and 
cranny of the valley — each with a shadowy toma- 
hawk and a torch, which did not burn with the 
honest and ruddy glare of pitch-pine, but with a 
blue color acd sulphurous odor, that revealed un- 
mistakably at what fire they had been lighted. 

Every ghost, as he came, made a profound obeis- 
ance to the rock-throned Satan, and then took his 
place in the cii-cle around the altar-stone. By and 
bye, the chief priest set up a wild, howling cnani, 
and away went the whole rabble rout, yelling and 
rushing round the altar in a mad, galloping sort of 
dance, in which they lifted their feet all the while, 
as if trf ading upon burning coals or red-hot iron — 
a step which is only learned in the dancing-schools 
down below. Many more such diabolical antics 
they cut, which, as they would neither be profitable 



wizard's glen. 137 

« 

by way of example or warning, it does not matter 
to tell. 

At last they paused, and Chamberlain thought it 
about time for them to take themselves off. But they 
were far enough from that: on the contrary, two 
barbarous looking phantoms — who might in life 
have been familiars to a savage inquisition — pre- 
sented themselves, leading between them a beautiful 
Indian maiden, robed only in her own long black 
hair. At another moment the beholder might have 
admired her graceful proportions and regular fea- 
tures — as he did when he afterwards remembered 
them — but now his senses were too much absorbed 
by horror. Not a word the poor girl spoke, but, 
stupified and silent, looked around from one unrelent- 
ing face to another, as if at a loss to comprehend 
what it all meant. Alas ! she soon knew; for one 
of the familiars, seizing her rudely around the waist, 
placed her upon the altar-stone before the priest. 
Then she shrieked — so wildly th at the hunter de- 
clared the echo never ceased ringing in his ears to 
^i8 dying day; — what part she had to perform there 
was no longer doubtful. But she shrieked not again 
nor spoke — only looked up into the fiery eyes of the 
priest so piteously that it seemed his heart should 
have melted, had it been formed even of tiint like the 
stone on which he stood; but it had been hardened 
in more infernal fires. 

So he took up his demoniac howl again, and went 
capering madly around the maiden. Then, suddenly 
pausing before her, he raised his hatchet and the 



138 TAGHCONIC. 

« 

whole phantom circle gathered closer around him, 
as if to gloat more nearly over their victim's pangs. 
It seemed the sacrifice was about to be consummated; 
but as the weapon was raised, the maiden's eyes 
(averted from it) met those of Chamberlain. The 
kind-hearted hunter, in whom compassion had over- 
come fear, could no longer restrain himself; so, 
taking out his Bible, he pronounced thegreatNAME — 
and with a terrific crash of the elements the whole 
scene vanished, leaving him in impenetrable dark- 
ness — for although the lightnings ceased, as if they 
had accompanied their master in his flight, yet the 
rain fell faster than ever. 

When the morning came, Chamberlain would have 
taken it all for a dream, for, exhausted Avith fatigue 
and excitement, he had fallen into a deep sleep; but 
he found that the wizards, unable to harm him, while 
protected by the holy volume, had revenged them- 
selves by stealing his deer, and perhaps giving it to 
their familiars, the bears — for there were bears in 
those days — so that there can be no manner of doubt 
as to the truth and accuracy of Chamberlain's story. 

There is many another legend of this haunted dell; 
as for this, I hope you place the same implicit confi- 
dence in it which my old informant did. 

Passing through the gorge very late, one piercing 
cold winter night, the place looked very weird to 
me. The frozen air was still as death; the white 
moonlight was reflected from the snow, as I fancied 
with more of pallor than of brightness, and I heard 
a shriek which I tried to believe came from the 



A 



wizard's glbn. 139 

* . . . 

maiden victim. But it may have been the scream 

of some far-off locomotive. Confound those "re- 
sonant steam eagles I " — there's never a shriek, 
from Cape Cod to the Taghconics — though with 
the ghostliest ring to it — but they get the credit. 



X. 

UNDIISTE'S GLEN. 



Pctge — Apelles, you must come away quickly, with the 
picture. The king tbinketh, now you liave painted it you 
play witli it. 

Apelles. — If I would play with pictures I have enough at 

home. 

Page. — None perhaps you love so well. 

Apelles. — It may be I have painted none so welU [Exit 
page.] 

* * * Campasne, I have painted thee in my heart ; painted ! 
nay, contrary to my art, imprinted, and that in such deep 
characters that nothing can rase it out, unless it rub my heart 
out. — Alexander and Campasne. 

It had been a week of rare sultriness with us — the 
fierce dying flicker of summer's life-flame. The maple 
leaves had lost the last remnant of their glossy fresh- 
ness; the cattle stood cooling themselves under the 
willow trees in the still pools of the river; long ago 
the birds had ceased their songs and fled into the 
deeper recesses of the woods; we, human idlers, lay 
listlessly under the shade of the nearer groves in 
dreamy reveries, or feeble speculations upon the 
destiny of some little cloud which might chance to 
speck the horizon — the forlorn-hope of a thunder- 
ehower. At evening we broached the mildest possible 



undine's glen. 141 

topics of conversation. The nearest app^'oach we 
made to vigorous effort was when a necessity aroi>e 
for tlirowing cold water upon any chance theme or 
project which might heat the blood. 

On the most fiery day of that fiery seven, came a 
friend who, then of all times, must climb to Wash- 
ington Mountain. No flaming sword of the elements 
could fright him from his purpose, and all the chivalry 
of friendship forbade me to leave him to the chances 
of being roasted, alive and alone, on some sun-burnt 
exposure of quartzite: a very possible fate for him 
who in his scientific ardor lingers too long on those 
natural gridirons. My friend had passed the livelong 
summer in New York, and minded our mountain 
heats no more than Monsieur Chaubert did a furnace 
only heated three times, instead of seven. 

Washington Mountain is the higher portion of 
that part of the Hoosac range which lies in the town 
of Washington, and is to be carefully distinguished 
from Mount Washington, the grand mass of Taconic 
hills in the south-western corner of the county. The 
point which we were to visit, was the shore of a pretty 
and lonely mountain lake, which lies seven miles east 
of Pittsfield and seven hundred feet above it, or seven- 
teen hundred above the sea-level. The bed-rock 
here is pure quartz, which is a good thing for the 
Pittsfield people, who get their luxurious abundance 
of pure water from the lake, and fi*om mountain 
streams which flow over the same insoluble formation. 
It takes here the form of granular quartz — which 
mineralogists, absurdly to my thinking, nickname 



142 TAGHCONIC. 

quartzite. When distintegrated, naturally or arti- 
ficially, it becomes the silicious sand of the glass 
mauufactui-e. A very valuable bed of this sand lies 
on the eastern shore of the lake: of which, more by 
and bye. I mention it now, merely to confess that 
it was some speculative interest in the money-value 
of its contents, and not any fanatical devotion to 
mountain scenery which led us to undertake that 
pilgrimage which threatened to be so like that from 
Morocco to Mecca: what ever of a romantic character 
finally attached itself to the excursion, was purely 
subsidiary. But in Berkshire, if there is any sus- 
ceptibility to the romantic in you, you can hardly go 
to market for a pig without its betraying itself. 
* Thinking to escape the more violent heat, we set 
out at a very early hour, but the air was already in- 
tensely sultry, and, still worse, was filled with a fine 
white dust, that completely penetrated eyes, nose, 
and mouth. We could neither see, breathe, nor 
speak, with comfort; and the gritty particles between 
our teeth sent a nervous shudder through the whole 
frame. As We ascended the mountain we came upon 
a fine breeze which never fails there, and which at 
the same time aggravated the plague of the dust, 
and inspired us with vigor to devise and execute a 
remedy. 

Ever and anon, by the road-side, appeared glimpses 
of a deep, rocky gorge. Up this, L. proposed to 
ascend the mountain by a path familiar to him, and, 
accordingly, sending our horse forward by a willing 
youth — who, I rather doubtfully hope, did not seize 



undine's glen. 143 

this rare opportunity to violate the precepts of the 
society for the prevention of cruelty to animals — we 
plunged down a steep descent, thick beset with 
brambles. At the bottom, a little brook came 
tumbling and purling down the hill, and, yielding to 
its suggestions, we indulged in a series of luscious 
ablutions. None but those who have experienced 
the like, can know the thrilling vigor and elasticity 
which penetrated us with the cool mountain air when 
the burning and inflammatory dust was once re- 
moved from the pores. 

Filled with new life, we pushed eagerly up the 
brook, now clambering over huge angular blocks of 
flint rock, now sauntering along smooth patches of 
green sward, and anon pushing our way through a 
thorny hedge of blackberry bushes, hanging full of 
the ripest fruit. Still L. led on, till we came to a 
little level spot of green sward, around which the 
brook swept in a graceful curve, while a thick leaved 
maple overhung it. We were here shut out from all 
sight of human habitation. The only traces of 
man's ravages were the weather-beaten stumps, 
which stood, ghastly memorials of his parricidal 
war with nature, like the bleached sculls which the 
ploughman turns up on an ancient battle-field. The 
precipitous hills, on either side, were yet shaggy, 
although not as of old, with the maple, the beech, 
the fir, and the hemlock. Just up the gorge, the 
streamlet leaped down a black ledge in a silver white 
column; while, beyond, the glen was dark with nar- 
rowing cliffs and over-hanging trees. Bravely, but 



144 TAGHCONIC. 

in vain, the gorgeous sunshine darted its arrowy rays 
into that Thermopylae of gloom. 

L. flung himself at full length beneath the maple, 
and I was glad to follow his example, " Do you 
know," he said, " this is Undine's Glen ? Shall I 
tell you the story of how it got its foreign name ? " 

One day in June, some ten years ago, there came 
to the village hotel in Pittsfield two ladies; the one, 
Miss Helen V., an heiress, and what was more, a 
spirited, brilliant, and natural girl. The other was 
her maiden aunt, Miss M., neither young nor pretty, 
yet a little romantic and not a little stiff in her 
manners. Miss M. held moreover the responsible 
office of guardian to her niece, which that young 
lady took the best care should be anything but a 
sinecure. 

Riding, walking, and reading, the lone dames 
whiled away a week or two; when, provokingly 
enough, just as the last page of their last light read- 
ing was cut, there came a rainy, dreary day, as such 
days will come, even in June. At such desperate 
junctures, solid literature and re-readings, are not to 
be thought of; so recourse was had to the land- 
lord. That functionary was anxious to serve his 
fair guests, but unfortunately his shelves were but 
meagerly filled. Suddenly his face brightened with 
a new idea. Among his boarders was one Dr. M., 
who, to enliven his hours in the country, had brought 
with him from New York a curious library. This 
gentleman was summoned, and made his a})pear- 
ance — a very personable young gentleman, and a 



uxdixe's glex. 146 

clever. The wants of the ladies were made known to 
him, and he invited them to examine his library for 
themselves, and some pictures which he prized, as well. 

Helen was delighted, although she did not exactly 
say so then; Miss M. hesitated, with some secret 
misgivings, but finally, overcome by the fiend ennui, 
and the frank bearing of M., she, courteously enough, 
accepted the invitation. Evening was upon them 
before they had completed the survey; for, besides his 
paintings by other artists, M. modestly displayed his 
own portfolio, filled with sketches of foreign as well 
as neighboring scenery. Helen eagerly turned them 
over, and M. had an enthusiastic word for many a 
remembered scene. After Miss M. had several times 
reminded her of her prolonged stay, Helen se- 
lected De La Motte Fouqu6's delightful romance of 
" Undine " from the library, and that evening M. 
read it aloud to them in their parlor. Before they 
parted, the ladies had consented to accompany him 
on the morrow to this spot, of which he was going 
to complete a sketch. So does friendship ripen 
when the right sun-light falls upon it. 

They came hither; the artist fixed his easel and 
wrought upon his sketch. Helen, seated at the foot of 
this maple, read " Undine " to her aunt. But both 
found an interval to wander up the glen; so Avith 
reading, sketching, romancing, — and most likely 
eating — the day wore away and the night came, — 
a moonlight night and a moonlight ride home. 

Some days passed, in which M. gained hugely in 
13 



146 TAGHCONIC. 

the good opinion of his fair friends, who continually 
teased him for a sight of his sketch — which he de- 
clared should not be seen until it was completed. 

Thus, something of an air of mystery had woven 
itself around the picture when at last he brought it 
out, altogether with the air of a man who knows he 
has done a nice thing, and is rather proud to have 
the world see it. 

Never was pride more completely dashed, or 
lover more completely puzzled. Helen blushed and 
smiled, but looked strangely and heartily vexed. 
The guardian aunt frowned unequivocally — not to 
say scowled. Poor M. turned from one to the other 
in most innocent and ludicrous bewilderment; but 
finally settled down into a fixed consideration of the 
cloud which had so suddenly gathered on the old 
lady' s brow — as a summer storm sometimes will 
over the placid surface of Lake Ashley. The sum- 
mer storm is transient, but Miss M. seemed to have 
an inexhaustible magazine of wrath behind her 
wrinkled forehead. So, taking a hint from Helen's 
eye, at the first growl of the thunder, M. fled. 

The tempest was brewed in this wise. The good 
old lady, with all her romance and stateliness, had a 
spice of puritanism about her, and the special phase 
in which it showed itself was a prudish modesty in 
the matter of pictures. Why it took this form, more 
than any other, might be discovered, perhaps, if we 
could pry into the crooks and crannies of her early 
history. At present it only ccncerns us to know 
that it was there, and that- in consequence of it she 



undine's glen. 147 

issued a husky edict for M. to " take his vile picture 
hence." 

Now this vile painting was neither more nor less 
than a simple and spirited sketch of this scene, into 
which the artist had interwoven a portrait of Helen 
in the. character of Undine. All very well — only 
the painter, with the modest assurance of his art, had 
changed the maiden's chaste garb for a bit of flimsy 
drapery, which displayed the ivory neck and swelling 
bosom, the taper leg and rosy foot, as circumstantially 
as though he had had the original all the while be- 
fore him for a model. O fair and false imagination, 
to steal away so fair and true a reality ! 

Miss M. would have thought her ward's character 
irreparably compromised by interchanging a word 
more with the immoral young man M. had proved 
himself, in her estimation. Helen thought quite 
otherwise. Fortunately for M. there was another 
difference in their notions. The aunt loved her 
morning pillow — the niece her morning walk — and 
this taste of the damsel's now acquired a new strength 
that would have charmed Dr. Alcott. In another 
point of view these sunrise excursions to South 
Mountain and Mellville's Lake might .have been 
thought alarmingly frequent. The young lady could 
not have been expected or desired to make her walks 
solitary, but one who saw how demurely they met at 
the breakfast table would not have surmised that the 
painter had been her companion an hour before. 

But the end was not yet; walking, it seems would 
not content them — they must ride as well. So one 



148 TAGHCONIC. 

balmy morning in the gray twilight, a pair of spirited 
greys were reined up at the south door of the Berk- 
shire House, while our young friends took their 
places behind them; and then, heigho for Lebanon ! 
" They'll have fleet steeds that follow, quoth young 
Lochinvar." Gallant champions of Love, those same 
fiery greys ! Before then, and since, they have borne 
beating hearts up the bills and down the valleys of 
that seven miles of Hymen's highway which lie be- 
tween the jurisdiction of the puritan publishment 
laws and the marriage-encouragiug state of New 
York. I wonder if any where in this western world 
more visions of happiness have been dreamed, more 
passionate pulsations throbbed, than between the tall 
Elm of Pittsfield and the all-curing Springs of Le- 
banon. The very murmurs of the groves have caught 
the soft tones of lovei''s vows; the sparkling streams 
reflect the ardent gleam of expectant bridegroom's 
eyes. 

Over this hymenial highway, that balmy morning, 
our happy couple were rapidly whirled, and before 
the sun was up, the words were said which bound 
them in that union which no words can unloose. I 
doubt if their steeds were urged as impatiently on 
their return, but they reached their hotel again while 
the careless guardian, fatigued with the last night's 
novel, yet slept. How they ever reconciled matters 
with her I never heard; but it was done, for last 
week she sat quietly by, while M., in a little recessed 
back parlor in Brooklyn, told me the story of his 
wooing. On the wall, too, he pointed out to me the 



undine's glen. 149 

identical "vile painting;" and by her mother's side 
a little Undine of eight summers shook her sunny- 
curls and laughed. I don't think the painter ever 
regretted his clay's sketching in the wild glen he 
christened " Undine's Gorge." 

" Can you believe the doctor was ever guUty of 
such nonsense as that ? " said IVIrs. M., laughing and 
blushing, as she handed me a delicately tinted and 
perfumed paper. It was one of her husband's 
effusions in the days of their courtship, and I 
noticed that his nonsense had been carefully copied 
in her own neat penmanship. " And will you be- 
lieve that those sUly lines once had the power to 
make me tell my poor aunt a little fib, and then walk 
half a mile to meet the saucy fellow, by Elsie's 
Haunted Pool ? What weak things girls are ! " 

Of course I could but beg a copy of the verses; 
and here they are: 

Geeen Hills of Taghconic. 

All sounds are hushed to silence, 

Save the insect's lulling drone 
And the murmur of the brooklet 

O'er its bed of pebbled stone. 
Far off, the green hills of Taghconic 

In the glow of the sunset lie, 
Entwined with a chaplet of roses 

And clasped in the arms of the skj ; 
For, round as the bosom of beauty, 

They swell from the vale in the west, 
And, catching the rose hue of twilight, 

Seem blashinj^ to be caressed. 



150 TAGHOONIO. 

One wreath of a silvery vapor 

That awhile on the hill-top hung, 
Like a gossamer scarf by a maiden 

O'er her ivory shoulders flung, 
Is gone ; for the sky — a right lover — 

The boautiful wearer kissed, 
And drew to himself for a token 

Tlie scarliet of silvery mist. 
But lo, for the token he taketh 

A token more fair he bestows, 
For, see, on the brow of the mountain 

A starry diamond glows. 

To-night by earth and heaven 

Alike is love-lore taught, 
And the air with the sweetest wisdom 

Of happiness is fraught. 
Then come to our tryst in the gloaming, 

Our tryst by the whispering beech, 
And we'll con the lessons duly 

That the sages of nature teach ; 
While near us the clear Housatonic 

Meandering flows to the sea, 
And sounds, with the silence harmonic, 

Are blended in melody. 

The story told, and a bumper drained to the 
health of the heroine — again up, still up, the cool 
gorge, till it diverged to the north, while our path 
lay southward. 



I 



XI. 

WASHINGTON MOUNTAIN AND LAKE 
ASHLEY. 

" A idfcely mountain tarn." 



Emerging from Undine's Glen, and reclaiming our 
carriage, we soon reached the shore of Lake Ashley, 
a pretty sheet of water, but more remarkable for its 
elevation, its loneliness and its unrivalled purity, 
than for any beauty of contour. The cold, pure 
serenity of its dark waves, as we looked upon them 
that day, was indeed exquisite. Lined on all sides 
but one by unbroken woods, fed only by fountains 
which gush from below, with neither speck nor boat 
on all its tranquil surface, it seemed, as we rode 
along its eastern border, the very waters of solitude. 
It should be so, for since the Indian's graceful bark 
is gone forever, there remains none which would not 
disturb the calm beauty of the scene. 

In long delicious draughts of the cool, sweet 
wave, we drank deep to the mountain maids, and 
certain maids of the valley : to the spirits of earth, 
air and water — to all kindly spirits whatever; not 
forgetting those who were then planning the grand 
project, since grandly perfected, of teaching these 



152 TAGHCONIC. 

solitary and secluded waters to thread their way 
through the homes, and sparkle in the fountains of 
thirsty Pittsfield. They are as refreshing there as a 
lively, bright-eyed country girl in a Fifth Avenue 
parlor. Bless them both, girl and mountain stream ! 

And then we got down — or, rather, up — to the 
solid business of the day. Washington Mountain, 
as I have said, is composed largely of quartzite. 
On the western slope it lies in ^minated strata, of 
which some, from three to six inches thick, are 
quarried for flagstones and like purposes. 

In the earlier days of the settlement they were oc- 
casionally used for grave-stones, although of such 
adamantine hardness as almost to defy the sculptor's 
most irresistible chisel. You may see, in the " Pil- 
grim's Rest " of the Pittsfield cemetery, some curious 
specimens, a hundred years old, on which the in- 
scriptions, whose depth is almost imperceptible to 
the eye, yet look as fresh as if cut yesterday; so 
little has a century done to smooth the thin, white 
roughening, the painstaking old sculptor was able to 
effect. 

From these rude quarries, the people of old time 
called this '* Rock Mountain;" a name quite as dis- 
tinctive and appropriate, to say the least, as that 
which it now bears. In other parts of the mountain 
the quartz is of finer grain, and not stratified. Still, 
like the quartzite boulders you find all the way from 
the Canaan range to the Hoosac, it appears compact; 
but, crush it under a hammer or in an iron mortar — 
or throw a heated fragment into water — and you 



WASHINGTON MOUNTAIN. 153 

shall see it fly into a sand identical with that used 
by the glass-makers. 

In Cheshire, Lanesboro', and other localities along 
the Hoosac range, this quartzite is found naturally 
disintegrated, in immense and valuable beds, from 
which large quantities of silicious sand are annually 
taken for the local glass-works and for exportation; 
for it is very widely used. It is altogether probable 
that the light by which you read these words comes 
to you through material which once lay in our 
Berkshire sand-beds, now transformed to window 
glass and lamp chimneys. I had learned that one of 
these precious deposits lay under a little well-wooded 
noppit which rose not far from the eastern shore of 
Lake Asliley. It supplied silicious material for glass- 
works during the war of 1812, but afterwards fell 
out of use, and almost out of mind. There was now 
a new demand for it; and hence our haste in seek- 
ing it that torrid summer day. A small recess in 
the side of the noppit was the only trace which re- 
mained of the labors of the old miners; but there 
were sufficient indications of a rich deposit. I shall 
have more to say hereafter of the beautiful and 
curious quartz formations of Berkshire; but for the 
present it is enough to add, concerning this peculiar 
bed, that the indications of its wealth were not de- 
ceptive. It proved among the best in the country, 
both as to extent and quality; and has long been the 
source of supply for the famous glass-works at 
Lenox Furnace. 

Such investigations as we had the means for mak- 



154 TAGHCONIC. 

ing were soon finished, and we had still time to seek 
for an extended mountain view. Knowing nothing 
of the region, we found this a task of no small diffi- 
culty; but there was a great reward. By mere ac- 
cident we came upon an outlook open on every side 
to the surrounding mountains, but cutting off every 

glimpse of valley. 

" Nunc coelum undique et undique" montes! 

Although there are many similar views among our 
Green Mountains, there are few in which the seclu- 
sion of sky and mountain-tops is so complete as in 
this. To the north-east a wild billowy sea of moun- 
tains stretched far away — a taller peak sometimes 
dashing its splintered crest into the sky, and a white 
village spire, or a red farm house, appearing here and 
there, a floating waif upon the waste. Upon a 
lofty point, miles away, the pretty village of Mid- 
dlefield glittered in the light of the setting sun. 
On the north and on the south as far as the eye 
could reach, extended the long, rolling, billowy swells 
• of the Hoosacs. On the west, the ever beautiful 
Taconics; and, looming far beyond them, the shadowy 
Catskills, looking like huge ghosts of perished moun- 
tains — long ago murdered by crashing earthquakes 
or smothering ice-sheets. 

The fastnesses of Washington Mountain wei'e 
among the last strong-holds in Massachusetts where 
the defeated, but not yet wholly desperate, insur- 
gents of the Shay's Rebellion took refuge; and met 
with new disaster. The sad case of men "who 
have been in arms against the government," and by 



WASHINGTON MOUNTAIN. 156 

failure are placed at the mercy of insulted and vin- 
dictive law, has long been one of the most touch- 
ing themes of historical romance. In this instance, 
to be sure, the triumphant government, doubtless 
conscious that it was itself not without sin in giving 
cause for the revolt, was more merciful to the trea- 
son than it had been to the poverty which provoked 
it; but at the time of the rally on the heights of 
the Hoosacs, this clemency Avas by no means well 
assured, and I doubt not that there was enough 
of dread and suffering and sorrow there, to touch 
our deepest sympathies could we but recall their 
story. 

An excellent road — the old Boston and Albany 
highway, leads to " Washington Center," and thence 
another runs southward along the crest of the moun- 
tain, through a level pastoral country, affording a 
charming, invigorating drive with frequent bold and 
striking prospects. If your imagination is potent to 
bring back a ragged squad or two of those forlorn 
old rebels, to enliven the foreground, it will im- 
prove the picture. In default of that, a trim school 
mistress in a jaunty hat, a bronzed and bright-eyed 
ploughman, and perhaps a grim and grizzled wood- 
chopper, must serve. 



XII. 
MARVELS OF THE TUNNEL C5TY. 

Make straight in the desert a highway for our God : 

Every valley shall be exalted, and every mountain shall be 

made low ; 
And the crooked shall be made straight, and the rough places 

plain, 
And the glory of the Lord shall be revealed. — Isaiah. 

The chariot shall be with flaming torches, in the day of his 

preparation ; 
And the fir trees shall be terribly shaken ; 
The chariots shall rage in the streets ; 
They shall jostle, one against anotlier, in the broad ways; 
They shall seem like torches ; they shall run like lightnings. 

Nahum. 



Whither shall we go this fine morning ? For one 
I am inclined to extend our rambles a little: and an 
hour or so on the rail will enable us to spend .a long 
day in any of those delightful localities, brimful of 
interesting objects and associations, -which cluster 
thickly around Williarastown and North Adams on 
the north, Sheffield, Great Barrington and Stock- 
bridge on the south, and in the rich mineral fields of 
the Corundum hills on the border of Hampshire 
county. Or we may take the. wings of " the resonant 
ateam eagles," and fly away to towering, sparkling, 



TUNNEL CITY. 157 

splashing, darkling, Bash-Bish. But I think bright, 
busy, bustling dashing North Adams, with its lively 
streets and peculiar surroundings, will show off well 
in this cool, clear atmosphere: hot and hazy, or wet 
and misty, days do not favor them much. 

To my mind, the most notable thing in this fine 
old town, or its bright new village, is the people: 
not to disparage some very noble scenery, or perhaps 
the most remarkable natural curiosity in the common- 
wealth ; and, least of all, to speak lightly of the grand 
Tunnel. But North Adams is, I verily believe, the 
smartest village in " the smartest nation of all crea- 
tion:" the concentrated essential oil of Yankeedom. 
As you pass through its streets, you see the evidence 
of this great truth everywhere; in the shops, in the 
manufactories, in the hotels : and, if these do not con- 
vince you, there will be no room for doubt when you 
come to the Hoosac Tunnel, which is almost as much 
a North Adams product, as the shoes made by the 
aid of Chinese cheap labor, or the textile fabrics 
woven by more costly imported help. 

We look with admiring awe upon the engineering 
skill and persistence which penetrated from side to 
centre of that enormous mountain-mass, in exact 
conformity with their intention; but not less skillful 
and persistent was the engineering which carried the 
Tunnel measures through that solid, but ever-fluctuat- 
ing body, the Great and General Court; which, 
like the demoralized rock of the Hoosac Mountain, 
was all the more difficult to manage for the insta- 
bility of its constituent material. You think that. 
14 



158 TAGHCONIC. 

the waters of the Deerfield river generated the power 
which bored the Tunnel. Doubtless, in a secondary 
way, it did; but not until a rill from the state treasury 
had become a helpful tributary of the Deerfield. 
The primary motive force was furnislied by that 
bold engineering which dammed the treasury, and 
turned a golden stream Tunnel ward; and North 
Adams furnished the engineers. 

Do not misconceive me. I do not use that word, 
engineering, in an offensive sense, although I admit 
it to be, in some sort, slang. Slang is often, as in 
this instance, only metaphor vulgarized by the news- 
papers. Every public movement must be engineered; 
not one, that I know, was ever so non-antagonistic 
to private interests, or so self -evidently for the 
common good, that it would engineer itself — move 
off spontaneously; and, by virtue of its own native 
goodness, finish its course triumphantly. Even a 
revival of religion is not achieved that way; and I 
seem to have read somewhere that our American 
Revolution was adroitly " worked up." As for those 
Avlu), by engineering or otherwise, helped on the bor- 
ing of the Hoosac Tunnel, I fully believe that they 
deserve, and will in due time receive, the gratitude 
of every unselfish well-wisher of the commonwealth. 

Having read in the old records that, after the 
Boston and Albany Railroad was opened, its mana- 
gers were in great doubt whether freight enough 
would ever be offered, to require the use of the two 
locomotives which they had placed between Spring- 
field and Pittsfield, I have the courage to find, in the 



TUKNEL CITT. 159 

great traffic which already seeks an avenue through 
the Tunnel, the promise of an adequate direct return 
for the State's vast expenditure there. But, even if 
that promise fail, I have the faith in reserve that the 
deficiency will be more than made good, indirectly, 
by increased wealth and population. 

But what have we to do with profit and loss, in 
our search for romance and beauty ? Of romance, we 
shall surely find enough in the undertaking and ac- 
complishment of that stupendous Tunnel enterprise; 
and, if there be any lack of beauty — of which I am 
not sure — it will find abundant comj^ensation in 
the grandeur of the work; a much more rare attribute 
of Berkshire marvels. 

The Tunnel, however, as well as the glories of the 
scenery around North Adams, has been celebrated 
by a pen so much more competent than mine, that 
it would be presumption for me to attempt more 
than the briefest glimpses at them; a barley-corn of 
quit-rent, as it were, in acknowledgment of homage 
due. 

The Hoosac Tunnel project is of no recent birth. 
It is more than sixty-five years since the Massachu- 
setts people, provoked to good works by the success 
of the Erie canal, conceived the idea of making the 
Hudson River climb over the Berkshire Hills and 
run down to Boston ; or if, under the protection of 
certain laws not subject to repeal by the General 
Court, or to be evaded by its engineers, the waters 
of the great river obstinately refused to run up hill, 
then to take from them the ever-increasing burden 



160 TAGUco^^:c. 

of western commerce, whicli they perversely carried 
to New York, and turn it eastward by means of a 
little Yankee Hudson — to Avit, a canal — to be manu- 
factured, until it crossed the Iloosacs, out of the lakes 
and sti'eams of Berkshire. 

One proposition for carrying out this scheme, was to 
follow nearly what is now the route of the Boston and 
Albany railroad ; but there was some doubt whether 
Pittsfield and the neighboring heights could furnish 
an adequate supply of water; and, besides, as one 
can I'eadily believe, the " rocky nature of the ground 
between Pittsfield and Blandford was discouraging." 

On the route now followed by the Troy and Boston 
railroad, the engineer found no very troublesome 
obstacles, except that, immediately east of North 
Adams, the Iloosac Mountain reared a barrier fifteen 
hundred feet high, and, at his very moderate com- 
putation, four miles thick. 

Here was something that, even with our advanced 
scientific and material engineering facilities, would 
give the boldest projector pause; but if it intimi- 
dated those old enthusiasts at all, it must have been 
only for a brief space. Late in the winter of 1825, 
Governor Eustis appointed Nathan \Yillis of Pitts- 
field, Elihu Iloyt of Deerfield and H. A. S. Dearborn 
of Boston, commissioners, and Colonel Laonii 0. 
Baldwin, engineei*, to consider the possibility of the 
Bcheme for a canal from the Hudson to Boston; and 
in January, 1826, they reported it to be perfectly 
practicable, by means of a tunnel through the Iloosac 
]!i[ouut:iiii, nearly at the point occupied by the pre- 



TUNNEL CITY. 161 

sent tunnel. The proposed dimensions were four 
miles in length, twenty feet in width and thirteen 
and a half in height; requiring a total excavation of 
two hundred and eleven thousand cubic yards. 
The elevation of the mountain ranges which still 
remained was to be overcome by a series of locks, 
whose total rise and fall were to be three thousand 
two hundred and eighty-one feet. The commis- 
sioners estimated the cost of the canal, one hundred 
and Boventy-eight miles long, at about six million 
dollars, including that of the tunnel which they put 
at less than one million. 

Colonel Baldwin was probably the daring spirit 
who first conceived the idea of this gigantic under- 
taking — far more gigantic than he, in his profes- 
sional philosophy, dreamed. But, whoever was 
father to the thought, the people of the Tunnel 
Region eagerly adopted it; and, though for a time 
it seemed to others to die, they knew that it only 
slept; and never lost sight of it until a locomotive, 
instead of a canal boat, emerging from the bowels 
of the mountain, rejoiced their waiting eyes. 

In 1826, a Boston newspaper-writer demonstrated, 
to his own satisfaction at least, that, on the commis- 
sioner's own showing, it would require fifty-two 
years to complete the proposed excavation. Never- 
theless, had it not been for the timely introduction, 
at that very moment, of steam as a motive power on 
raih-oads, there is much reason to believe that the 
state would have undertaken the tunnel. It is cer- 



162 TAGliCONlC. 

tain, at least, that there would have been a strong 
party in favor of its .so doing. 

And now, if you will consider what chemical and 
mechanical appliances were at the command of the 
engineer in 1825; what was the cost of labor, and 
what the pecuniary resources of the state, I think 
you will concede some grandeur to the courage that 
did not flinch from a work which has since, under 
far different conditions, almost frightened some very 
solid economists from their propriety. 

The successful use of steam on railroads effectually 
cured the canal fever, which was raging with symp- 
toms very threatening to the public purse; and 
attention was diverted from the Hoosac Mountain — 
the highest mass of the Hoosac Range — to the more 
moderate grades of the same chain in Central and 
Southern Berkshire; which, at no ruinous cost, could 
be made available even with such locomotive power 
as the skill of that day was able to provide. 

The tunnel project, thus put to rest, slept an 
unquiet slumber, until it was re-awakened in 1848, 
by the charter of the Troy and Greenfield railroad 
with a capital of three million five hundred thousand 
dollars. A proposed capital only; for the arbiters 
of finance did not look kindly upon the scheme, and 
it languished -^— in a morning nap perhaps — until its 
friends, in 1854, secured a loan of two million dol- 
lars from the commonwealth. 

The tunnel work was begun with energy in 1856. 
But I am not going to attempt the story of its 
troubles and its triumphs. What with demoralized 



TUNNEL CITY. 163 

rock and demoralized legislators; with the rudest 
inexperience to be transformed to accurate practical 
knowledge; with useless, followed by the most effi- 
cient, machinery; with inadequate, and then with 
almost too violent, rending power; with sad waste 
of treasure; with still sadder sacrifice of life — there 
was enough, both of obstacle and the overcoming of 
it. But the final victory came at last; and, as I think, 
that .first locomotive which, on the first of March, 
1875, thundered through the vanquished mountain, 
was the proudest triumphal car that had ever cele- 
brated conquest. 

If you think my estimate exaggerated, what will 
you say of Rev. Dr. Todd, Pittsfield's quaintly elo- 
quent, but thoroughly orthodox, divine, who found 
in our railroad era the fulfilment of the sublime 
prophecies which I have placed at the head of this 
article? This was in that glow of feeling excited in 
the warm-hearted pastor by his official participation 
in the golden welding of those iron bands by which 
the Pacific railroad binds together the east and the 
west; and I am not sure whether he counted his 
words well grounded doctrine, or merely the play of 
his bold poetic fancy. But you and I have heard 
many a less plausible interpretation of prophecy 
gravely propounded by reverend lips. 

Well, there the Hoosac Tunnel is — not at all the 
visionary thing it seemed to many eyes, even a 
quarter of a century ago; but a very palpable fact; 
so palpable indeed that you can feel the darkness 
within it. You may visit it; but, before you do so, 



164 TAGHCONIC. 

consider well the strength of the old Titanic moun- 
tain wall, which, so far as it was a barrier to com- 
merce, it has thrown down; consider the wealth of 
treasure and of intellect, of human labor and human 
life, which have gone to its construction; get some 
conception, if you can, of the mighty flood of travel 
and traffic which rolls through it in ever-swelling 
volume. Thus prepared, you may feel the grandeur 
of the Tunnel; otherwise you may almost as well 
spend eleven minutes in your coal-cellar. Unless, 
indeed, you chance upon an hour when the cavernous 
walls are, for some special purpose illuminated; then, 
I dare say, you will experience some curious sensa- 
tions; it may be of an exalted nature. 

And now let ns return to the Tunnel City: where, 
howevei*, I shall not attempt to paint for you Mount 
Hawkes, Williams, Adams or any of the grand hills 
which look down upon it. They have already been 
gladdened by a more golden light than I could throw 
upon them. But I cannot resist the temptation to 
repeat a visit which I made many years ago to The 
Natural Bridge: a piece of carving by the Water 
Nymphs, which I do not find surpassed by any thing 
which Dame Nature's eccenti'ic work-people have 
effected anywhere in New England. 

8ome years ago I took a walk, with a noted tra- 
veller, along the bending valley of the Hoosac, to 
North Adams and Williamstown; thence to the 
summit of Gi-eylock, down its niost precipitous side 
into one of its wildest recesses; and down the valley 
of the Housatonic to Pittsfield. You will wander 



TUNNEL' CITY. 166 

long before you meet another route so rich in ad- 
mirable landscape or in objects of marked individual 
interest; but none of them were impressed on my 
memory so vividly and pleasantly as this bridge, and 
the ravine by which it is best approached. 

Reaching the vicinity by a winding road which 
afforded superb views towards the south and east, 
we entered the ravine at its lower terminus. We 
made no measurements, but the following description, 
furnished by Rev. John W. Yeomans for the " His- 
tory of Berkshire" published in 1829, perfectly ac- 
cords with my impressions. 

" About a mile uortli east of North Adams village, Hudson's 
brook lias worn a channel thirty rods long, and in some places 
sixty feet deej), throngli a quarry of white marble. TIk; ledge 
terminates at the soutli in a steep prcjcipice, down wiiicb it 
Beems the water once fell; but, finding in some places natural 
fissures, and in otln^rs wearing away the rock, it has formed a 
passage from thirty to sixty feet below its former bed, and with 
a me.in breadth of fifte<;n feet. Across this chasm, two masses 
of rock — one ten or twelve feet above the other — lie like 
bridges. The upper is now much broken : under the lower, 
which is beautifully arched, the stream has sunk its bed nearly 
fifty feet." 

The walls of the ravine are perpendicular cliffs of 
pure white marble, highly crystaline in coarse granu- 
lation — a dolomite, if I recollect rightly, susceptible 
of a fine edge under the chisel. They are mottled 
all over, from top to bottom with indentations of. 
various shapes and sizes: but oftenest circular 
and concave, like a saucer, with an average dia- 
meter, at a rough guess, of eight or ten inches: 
making a very pretty Arabesque fret work. But, 



166 TAGHCONIC. 

small or large, the indentations were evidently made 
by rolling pebbles kept in motion by the waters of 
the sinking stream. Frequently one of the niche-like 
recesses has almost its exact counterpart precisely on 
the opposite side of the chasm; as though a marble 
mass — in which was a hollow space, like an inverted 
cauldron or old-fashioned dinner-pot — had been 
sharply rent in twain, and the sides withdrawn fifteen 
feet apart: an explanation which has sometimes been 
rashly made. The phenomenon seems rather to in- 
dicate where a ledge of fixed rock extended nearly 
acioss the bottom of the brook, forcing the grinding 
pebbles against the wall on each side. 

Ask the sculptor who makes gravestones of that 
marble, how long he thinks it took the water nymphs 
to carve out that ravine and fret its walls so curiously. 

Entering the lower opening of the ravine, we waded 
squarely into the brook, which we found easily 
fordable; and as it was a warm summer day, we went 
merrily splashing our way almost to the bridge; 
whereby we got the best p5ssible appreciation of 
the whole thing. And a high appreciation it was, 
as my companion expressed it in an animated 
speech when we had ensconced ourselves in opposite 
niches in the marble walls. 



XIII. 

LANESBOROUGH SUNLIGHT AND SHADOW. 

Man lias two minutes and a half to live — one to smile, one 
to sigh, and a half to love : for in the midst of this we die. 
But the grave is not deep ; it is the shining footprint of the 
angel who seeks us; and when the unknown hand throws the 
fatal dart, man boweth his head, and the shaft only lifts the 
crown of thorns from his wounds. — Jean Paul liichter. 



Nestled closest in the bosom of our Lills lies the 
little village of Lanesboro' — the very fondling of 
Nature. Thither turns never the good mother her 
wrinkled front; near pressing as the mountains clasp 
the narrow valley, you must not look among them for 
frowning precipices, or earthquake-rifted chasms. 
High into the air their summits press, but not in 
jagged peaks — only with the full, round swelling 
of loving breasts, upon which you may repose, if you 
will, in the gentlest of summer reveries. 

There is one eminence — in patriotic gratitude 
they call it Constitution Hill — with such a winsome, 
neighborly look to it, that in our streets, miles 
away, it seems near as your own garden. If you 
have in you any yearnings at all after beauty, I am 
sure you cannot look upon, and not be irresistibly 
drawn to .it, to be lifted up gently and humanly, 



168 TAGHCONIO. 

above the baser things of earth. Lying under its 
druidical oaks, or seated, farther up, upon a pearl- 
white quartz rock, in the shade of a whispering birch, 
you will see below you, groves and farms, and broad, 
fresh meadows, with laughing lake and winding 
rivulets — like silver embroidery on the green ban- 
ner of Erin, 

Many fair villages, as well, will dot the scene, 
whose names — if you do not know — I hope you 
will never ask, but be content to remember, that 
under each roof of them all, human lives are wear- 
ing themselves out. Then let your own heart in- 
terpret for you what the overlooking woods whisper. 
If you know well the story of one hearth-stone, 
think what a thrilling tale it is; and if, in your re- 
veries upon the hill-tops, you multij^ly that marvellous 
but common story into the thousand dwellings of 
the valley, the resultant mass shall be mightier than 
the mountains which encompass it. 

I could point you to an antique mansion — a grey 
spot it appears in the far distance, with no over- 
hanging cloud to distinguish it — at whose story I 
am deeply moved, as often as I look upon it. The 
8},)lendors and the shadows, which have by turns | 

darkened and illumined its c hambers, pass and repass 
in spectral reiteration, over my spirit. Whether I 
will or not, come the ghosts of fleeting joys, irradi- 
cable sorrows; the loftiness of human pride and 
the lowliness of pride's abasement, which have passed 
and left no record there; and yet that grey old 
homestead is no accursed roof, devoted to misery 



I 



LANESBOEOUGH. 169 

from its foundation, but one even such as its fellows 
are. Ah ! if we could look within the seemly exte- 
rior of any home — if we could penetrate the heart's 
chambers of any man, what might not meet us there ? 
Those glowing windows which gleam so cheerily on 
our evening path, by what funereal torches may 
they not be lighted? Those radiant faces which 
meet us smilingly ia our noonday walk by what in- 
fernal passions may they not be driven on ? So, 
under the green and smiling earth, lie pent the hidden 
fires, and help the genial sun to quicken the blossom 
and ripen the fruit. 

This Constitution Hill must be a great promoter 
of reverie. I have a friend — a bachelor friend — 
who, no sooner is he seated upon it, than off he goes 
dreaming over the whole valley, in a very marvelous 
way. I do not believe there is a dwelling in sight, 
from Greylock to Yocun's Seat, that he has not, at 
some time, msidehijixiieU pater /amilias in it. Bring 
him up hither, and his respect for the Tenth Com- 
mandment vanishes like the mist of the valley. 
Another friend of mine — an artjst — never looks 
down from this hill, but — pjresto ! change ! — the 
hard work of a century is all gone, and the red 
Indian comes back again, with wild-wood and wig- 
wam^ council fire and hunting ground. So you, if you 
come within the charmed circle of our hill's shaven 
crown, may, perchance, work some wonderful phan- 
tasmagoric changes, 

I do not know how it all comes about. Perhaps 

some good genius has cast a spell upon the spot — a 
15 



170 TAGHCONIC. 

mode of solving such difficulties to which I confess 
myself prone, being naturally of a superstitious as 
well as lymphatic turn of mind. 

It may be only another fancy of mine, but the 
leaves here seem to have a perfection of beauty not 
attained elsewhere. Nature's work is finished with 
more care; the curves are cut with a more accurate 
grace, and the green more faitlif ully laid on. In the 
Fall, too, the rich enamellings are done with greater 
depth of coloring, and without shrivelling up the 
work in the process, as the careless elves are very 
apt to do in other groves. The specimens of their 
workmanship which I have seen here were perfect 
gems in their way. You shall not desire to see a 
more gorgeous sight than Constitution Hill in Oc- 
tober. 

Just on the western declivity is a good sized cavern, 
which, a witty lady thinks, may be the home of these 
elfin workmen; but in spite of the high authority, I 
must doubt; such underground tenements are more 
fit dwelling j^laces for bears, wolves, and siich like 
ugly gnomes, than for any gentle spirits whatever. 
No, ours are 

" Some gay creatures of the elements, 
Who in the colors of the rainbow live 
And play 'i the plighted clouds." 

Descending from the hill, you may wander up the 
stream which flows at its base. If a follower of the 
" gentle craft of angling," you will not neglect to lie 
awhile where some thick-lfeaved maple overshadows a 



LANESBOROUGH. 171 

deep pool, -where you may drop your line with the 
reasonable hope of bringing to shore a dozen fine 
fish — perhaps even the " Hermit Trout " himself who 
is believed to haunt these pools, and only dimple the 
shallows in the pale moonlight; — a wary old fellow he, 

•' Too shrewd 
To be by a wading boy pulled out 1 " 

But I trust you are no patron of this treacherous 
sport. You were better to sit on some warm bank 
of green-sward, or dangling your feet over some 
rustic bridge, to watch the smoothly gliding current, 
and 

" The shadows of sun-gilt ripples 
On the pebbly bed of a brook." 

There is no wine, or oil of gladness, which has 
such a balm for the wounded spirit as the soft mur- 
murs of a rural brooklet. 

Wandering on, you may, if you are fortunate as I 
have been, sometimes catch a glimpse into dream- 
land — like a vignette to an old romance, of a youth 
seated under a spreading elm, with a guitar in his 
hand and a maiden by his side; or even catch Titania 
shooting grasshoppers with elfin arrows among the 
ox-eyed daisies and buttercups. When I was a citizen 
I used to think such things confined to poetry and 
Spain; but here, in the quiet days of summer, things 
often occur which convince one of the truth of Hood's 
remark, that '• it is dangerous to swear to the truth 
or falsehood of a romance, even of one's own making." 



172 TAGHCONIC. 

On a gentle hillock, by whose side the stream flows 
in deep willow shade, is the village grave-yard. Do 
not fail to enter it. Among its thick-clustering 
monuments you can linger with best profit, undis- 
turbed by quaintly ludicrous epitaphs, or monstrous 
heraldries of death. The touching inscriptions on 
the simple marbles bespeak alike the chastened spirit 
and the cultivated mind. What wild woe — paternal, 
filial, fraternal, and conjugal — this narrow spot has 
witnessed, I shrink from recalling. The marble bears 
record only of the subdued grief and the Christian 
hope; the story of the early woe, when the one joy 
of life perished — when " the young green bole was 
marked for f ellage," is not told to the stranger's eye, 
and is sacred from the stranger's pen. Yet, for that 
stranger is the place deeply consecrated; how holy, 
then, to those whose best of earth is mingled with its 
dust. I am here often reminded of a beautiful 
thought of Richter: " The ancients had it, that not 
even the ashes of the dead should be embarked with 
the living, for fear of the storm which would be sure 
to follow. We have learned better, and know thft 
to be accompanied on the voyage of life by the 
memory of the dead brings calm and not storm; he 
who always feels one loss, will be less accessible to 



new sorrow." 



The Old Worshipper. 

In this grave-yard I once witnessed a scene, so 
touching and solemn, and yet so far removed from 
any agony of woe, that to speak of it can open anew 



THE OLD WORSHIPPER. 173 

no half healed wound. It was one of those occasions 
when the sorrows of earth are so gloriously trans- 
muted into the joys of Heaven, that we, who remain 
" of the earth, earthy," look upon the transfiguration 
in far-oflf wonder; while philosophy strives in vain 
to characterize emotions, in which the consoler, 
Christ, enables the mourner to mingle — as in His 
own mysterious nature — so much of human sorrow 
with so much of Divine confidence. 

Not far from the village grave-yard, is the church — 
a modest gothic structure, built of the grey stone of 
the country. This was once, for many months, my 
own place of worship; and still, on a pleasant 
Sabbath morning, I love to stroll to it. The bracing 
walk of some half dozen miles, through a delightful 
region, is no unworthy preparation for the devotions 
of the sanctuary; and, through the day, the voices 
of woods and waters seem to mingle with the deep 
responses of the congregation. Nature, with her 
thousand voices, joins in the jubilant chorus, and in 
subdued tones echoes the supplications of the solemn 
litany. 

The first morning upon which I entered this 
church I was struck with the venerable figure of an 
old man, who sat in front of me, completely absorbed 
in worship. Never had my ideal of Christian de- 
votion been so completely filled; no painter could 
have desired a finer model. His whole soul seemed 
informed and penetrated with the sj)irit of the 
liturgy, in whose eloquent words he poured forth 
his soul to God. 



174 TAGHCONIC. 

His veteran form was tall and martial in its bear- 
ing; in the deep lines of his countenance you could 
not mistake the characters of strong intellect, self 
respect, and unbending firmness of purpose. You 
would say he was one not likely to yield much ob- 
sequious homage to his fellow man; but here, in the 
presence of Jehovah, his whole bearing was con- 
formed to the most lowly, yet manly, humility. 
Nothing could be more impressive than the earnest 
tones with which he joined in the services of the 
church. 

Sabbath after Sabbath, my eye sought and found 
him — the most noticeable figure in the room — 
until one summer's day, when I entered, the people 
were waiting, in that hush of expectation which in 
a country congregation tells one that a funeral is 
about to take place. On my way to the church I 
had lingered a few moments, as was my wont, in 
the grave-yard — and had found an open grave in 
the lot of the venerable worshipper. I now looked 
to his pew; it was vacant; and I at once guessed 
that it was he who was about to enter the sacred 
portals for the last time. But it was not so: a 
whisper from a neighbor informed me that it was the 
wife of the old man who was no more — the wife of 
his youth. 

Presently, as the procession entered, I saw the 
widowed husband following close behind the coffin, 
his head a little bent, as if to approach ueai-er the 
i'ovm of the sleeper, and his_ voice a little more tremu- 



THE OLD WOKSHIPPEB. 176 

lous than usual, as he joined in the Scripture ap- 
pointed to be then read. 

The coffin was laid before the altar, and the old 
man took his seat, with that forced calmness where 
the quivering lip shows the struggle hardly yet over, 
and the victory only half won. 

As the sublime promises of future reunion were 
read; as the sympathizing tones of consolation fell 
from the lips of the preacher, I thought the few re- 
maining clouds vanished from the aged face, and a 
perfect serenity overspread it. When the sermon 
was ended, with an aspect almost cheerful, he rose 
up, to follow to her burial-place all that remained on 
earth of her, with whom, for more than fifty years, 
he had walked, in sunshine and in storm. What 
emotions were at work within, none could read — 
the fixed eye, the firm-set lip, revealed nothing — 
the prying eye of curiosity, the anxious gaze of 
friendship, returned alike baffled. And yet, with 
what overwhelming power must the busy memory 
of that lonely old man have brought back the thick- 
crowding events of half a century, from the first 
thrilling meeting to this last brief parting ! It is 
such moments which must disclose most viv'dly to 
the mind of Eld what this life is, which passeth like a 
dream. Such might have been the retrospect of the 
mourner of three score years and ten, as he took his 
few brief steps from the temple to the tomb — or, 
perchance, his better spirit reached forward to a 
glorious meeting in that home to which sorrow and 
parting can never come. 



176 TAGHCONIC. 

The coffin was lowered to its place; the people 
gathered around. The pastor began that beautiful 
service, in which the church commits earth to its 
kindred earth, and proclaims the spirit returned to 
the God who gave it. There, at the clergyman's 
side, stood the tall and veteran form of the mournei', 
bis thin grey hairs streaming in the mountain wind, 
as he repeated, tirmly, the proper responses. For a 
while he looked steadfastly down into the grave — 
but as the pastor rSad : " And the corruptible bodies 
of those who sleep in Him shall be changed and 
made like unto Ilis own glorious body," the de- 
pressed eyes were raised to Heaven with an expres- 
sion of most triumphant and joyous hope. The 
struggle was over. The grave had lusL its sting; 
"Death was SAvallowed up iu victory." It was a 
spectacle most touching and sublime. 

Yet a few moments, and the grave was closed; 
the people separated to their homes — and the 
mourner, likewise, departed to his — but for not long. 
He Avas soon missed from his accustomed seat in the 
sanctuary. With the fall of the leaf, he went down 
into the grave — and the grass which in the spring 
grew upon his wife's mound, waved over two. 

There is another and older graveyard in the town, 
white with its multitude of marble testimonials. 
Here there used to be a tomb, carved with masonic 
symbols, and having a heavy iron knocker on its 
door. Here, often at midnight — whether the still 
moon shed her pale light on the ghastly tombstones, 
or the dark and howling tempest Avas on — a crazed 



THE OLD WORSHIITER, 177 

woman used to enter the grave-encumbered ground, 
and strike such a peal on tlie ringing iron that the 
sleepers in the near dwellings started trembling 
from their slumbers. There is something terribly 
significant to me in that gloomy visitation of the 
tomb. What earnestness of agonized longing for 
their repose, may have impelled that wild nocturnal 
summons to the dead. " Wake ! wake ! ye peace- 
ful dwellers in the tomb," perliaps that weary, 
brainsick woman said: " Open your dark portals and 
give pie rest beside ye. Wake ! — the living turn 
from ine, and do you also spurn me ? — me, who 
shudder not at any loathsomeness of yours ?" 

J3ut cheerier thoughts for the cheerful light of 
summer — and, jiassing the mildewed realms of 
death, do you hie away to some beautiful hill — 
Pratt's, Pi'ospect, St. Luke's, or " The Noppit;"or 
to some fair valley — whither I may not stay to ac- 
company you. 

Lanesboro was the birth place of that queerest 
and wisest of humorists, the Yankee Solomon, Josh 
Billings: nei Henry Savage Shaw. The people of 
the village used to affect a certain rural English 
style, and the older inhabitants still love to speak of 
it as " The Borough." Hon. Henry Shaw, the father 
of our humorist, and one of the ablest statesmen 
who have represented Berkshire in congress, was 
the Lord of the Manor, and quite held his own in 
most of the traits which are conventionally ascribed 
to that class of gentry in England. But there was 
one notable variation; he was no Episcopalian, but 



178 TAGHCONIC. 

always occupied with his family, the square and 
spacious pew of state in the Congregational meeting- 
house. 

The rector of St. Luke's, although bearing the 
same name as the squire, was proud of his descent 
from the old Brentons, and clung fondly to. the 
customs of his ancestral church, as well as to its 
doctrines. Overflowing with genial wit, charitable, 
given to hospitality, and devoted especially to the 
kindlier duties of his priestly oflice, he might have 
furnished Goldsmith or Praed, a model for their de- 
lightful pictures of the English country clergyman. 
A man greatly to be loved. 

In matters of religious dogma and form, there was 
not that happy accord between the squire and the 
rector, which usually prevails between similar classes 
in England; but, although both seemed to belong to 
another state of society than that which prevailed 
outside of the Borough, each seemed exactly fitted 
for the niche in the great temple — the world — in 
which it had pleased his Maker to place him. That is, 
80 far as his home in the Borough was concerned — 
outside of that the squire, at least, who took a large 
part in public affairs, fared like others who mix in 
the mad whirl of politics and finance, and get more or 
less of their deserts, as it may chance. But in their 
retired niches at home, each would gladly have 
preserved every dear antique ornament, however 
grotesque, of the life which surrounded him. But 
the well-bom and polished clergyman and the stately, 
courtly squire were not the only original characters 



HENET SHAW. 170 

in the Borough : it was full of them, from these con- 
spicuous specimens down to the sardonic dealer in 
oysters and poultry — nay, to the very blackest 
picker of black-berries in " The Gulf." 

Such was the early home in which Josh Billings 
meditated fun and — I have not a particle of doubt — 
mischief. Here he made curious observation of the 
odd people about the village, and perhaps treasured 
up the wise and piquant sayings for which the squire 
and the parson were renowned, the county over, I 
will cite one of the squire's, which he ejaculated with 
some emphasis, although he had the smallest possible 
personal experience of its truth: " Confound " — that 
is not exactly the word, but I translate — " Confound 
poverty: it never did any body any good ! " What 
do you think of that for truthfulness, compared with 
the old sentimental philosophy on the same point ? 



XV. 
LAKE ONOTA AND ITS WHITE DEER. 

Can I forget? no, never, such a scene; 
So full of witchery — Rogers' Itidy. 



I said, the otlicr day, that Pontoosuc is not quite 
my favorite among our mountain Lakes. Onota is. 
Of all the liundred lakelets of Berkshire — exquisitely 
lovely as many of them are — I think there is not 
one which equals this in gi'ace of outline, or in its 
rich back-ground of wood, field and hill. It lies in 
ail elevated valley only two miles west of our main 
street ; and, if you will come with me to the com- 
manding elevation upon its south-west shore, and 
look across its broad and tranquil surface, towards 
Constitution Hill and Greylock, you will confess that 
I have not too highly extolled its charms. I am 
sure, at least, that T never heard such an admiring 
shout ovi'v any oIIut pii^ce of landscape as went up 
from scores of Stockbridge and Albany field-meeting 
visitors when this view was suddenly revealed to 
tliem, one glorious summer day. I should have bid 
you, as you ai)proached the lake, take note of tJve 
twin elms which crown the hill upon its eastern 
side and form a perfect arch — St. Mary's Arch, they 



LAKE ONOTA, 181 

call it. But you may observe it from many points 
in the village. 

WJien I first wrote of this lake, I said with truth 
" Of all our enticing groves, none are more perfect 
than the woods upon the eastern shore of Onota. 
Few have so hermit-like a solitude, yet none are so 
far lemoved from a desolate loneliness. These 
shades are sometimes very solemn, but one need not 
be very sad in them. A merry company might be 
very gay." Ar, to a large extent of wood, this de- 
scription still holds generally true, although costly 
mansions have arisen by the lake-side, and streets 
are creeping towards it. We must still ramble 
through woods, and for a little space scramble 
through brambles, to reach its northern shore. 

But it is worth the trouble; for the view south- 
ward is wild and picturesque. I have heard artists 
commend it as the best to be had of the lake. I 
cannot so think; but its peculiar formation is cer- 
tainly here disj^layed to the best possible advantage, 
and is very curious. At about one-quarter of its. 
length from its northern end, it is divided by a 
narrow isthmus; the northern portion being the 
work of those industrious and skillful engineers, the 
beavers — who formed it by building a dam across 
a small stream which still runs through it, over- 
flowing their embankment in sufficient quantities to 
turn the wheels of large factories at some distance 
below. The main or southern lake is fed by springs 
and Taconic mountain-brooks. 

The fringed gentian, the cardinal and other gor- 
16 



182 TAGHCONIC. 

geous wild flowers, grow in j^rof usion at the north 
of the lake. The more pleasant resort, however, is 
upon the south, where, of a dreamy summer after- 
noon, one can recline in luxurious reveries, as he 
watches the image of the mountains, sharply re- 
flected in the clear waters; sometimes in the green 
leafiness of June, sometimes in the melancholy gor- 
geousness of autumn, or better still, when the haze 
of the Indian summer invests them with hues of 
pearly delicacy and richness. 

Perhaps, while you look, a broad-winged eagle 
will appear above you, soaring and sweeping in the 
silent sky, till it vanishes into the heavens; or a blue 
king-fisher will perch awhile upon yonder blasted 
bough, and then suddenly darting into the water 
bear away its writhing pi'ey to some hidden haunt. 
Other gentler birds will sit a-tilt on the lithe green 
branches — and, if it be in early summer, serenade 
your slumberous ear. 

Near by, the cattle will stand in groups on a 
pleasant point of land which runs out into the lake, 
and which they seem to love better than other spots. 

Around these shores were some of the earliest 
settlements; and, before the intrusion of the white 
man, they were the favorite haunt of the Indian. A 
gentleman digging into a bed of peat and marl, upou 
his farm on the east of the lake, found, at great 
depth, stakes pointed artificially — evidently the 
remains of wigwams built ages ago, when, perhaps, 
the marl bed was a lakelet as crystal clear as Onota. 
Remains of the rude arts of the later Indians used 



LAKE ONOTA. 183 

to be found in the neighboring fields; but now they 
. Ve rarely, if ever, turned up by the plough. 

Upon the eminence to which I first took you, a 
fort of some pretense was built, during the second 
French and Indian war, for the protection of the 
settlements at tlie south and east; and relics are 
still occasionally found of the regiments which rested 
here on their way to the campaigns which ended in 
the conquest of Canada. There were four of these 
forts in Pittsfield, garrisoned partly by soldiers sent 
by helpful Connecticut; and partly by the settlers, 
who, compelled to abandon their log cabins, took 
their families with them to these places of refuge. 
And a jolly time they seem to have had of it, shut 
up there cozily together — a perpetual tea-party. 

The commissariat accounts are, some of them, still 
preserved, and afford us a peep at the housekeeping 
on Fort Hill a century and a quarter ago. They 
tell us that the larder of the garrison was plentifully 
supplied with venison at five pence a pound; wild 
turkey at a shilling, and beef at twelve pence. 
Trout were to be had by the hundred for the catch- 
ing, and partridges for the killing. But the old ac- 
counts are eliefly occupied with charges for spirituous 
liquors in drams of rum, bowls of punch and mugs 
of flip. Persons of the lower rank took their drams; 
their superiors revelled in punch; while the more 
temperate, and the ladies, were generally content 
with the mild beverage, flip. On some days merri- 
ment grew merrier, as on a certain second of Novem- 
ber — perhaps thanksgiving day — when the gallant 



184 TAGHCONIO. 

Captain Hinman, of the Connecticut troops, is 
charged with several punches for himself, and " a 
mug of tiip for Mrs. Piercy." And, just below, we 
are startled by this entry : "The wife of Deacon 
Crofoot, for a mug of tiip — a kiss." A merry party 
• of fair women and brave men, there must have been 
that chill November evening in the old fort; maugre 
the possibility that a legion of Onuhgungo fiends 
would be howling for their scalps before morning. 
But antiquarian research dissipates any visions of 
the " rosy juncture of four melting lips " as a result 
of that charge against the Deacon's wife, by show- 
ing that the good dame was then sixty-six years old. 
Which doubtless is the reason that the account is 
not recorded to have been ever liquidated. 

There are a couple of legends about this Onota, 
perhaps Avorth the telling. The tirst is well authen- 
ticated, and the other not improbable, as legends go. 

The Legend of the White Deer. 

There is hardly a country where a deer ever trod 
in which there does not linger some legend of one 
or more of these gi*aceful animals, either wholly or 
in part of a supernatural whiteness. It is a fancy 
which seems to spring spontaneously in the rich soil 
of- a woodman's imagination. The " White Doe of 
Rylston," and Bryant's " ^Vliite-footed Deer, will 
occur to every one, as instances of the use to M-hich 
these foi-est tales have been put in poetry. Traditions 
of a similar character are said to exist in many tribes 



THE WHITE I>EEE. 185 

of American Indians, and among others, those of the 
Housatonic valley, 

A gentleman tells me that in the old witch times — 
long after the Salem delusion ended — there were no 
firmer }>elievers in that sort of supematuralism than 
the people who lived about Lake Onota; one of 
whom was his own grand-father, of whom he relates 
the following anecdote: 

Coming in one day from an unsuccessful day's 
hunting, he was surprised to see a white deer stoop- 
ing down to drink at Point Onota — the little cape 
which extends into the lake at its south end. In- 
stantly his rifle was at his shoulder; but before he 
could pull the trigger, his dog howled, and the 
startled deer fled into the wood. The marvellous 
story of the white deer of the Mohegans at once 
occurred to him, and it entered into his head that 
his dog was bewitched; or rather that an old hag 
who lived in " The North Woods " — a section on 
the north-western side of the lake — had assumed 
his form; which, among other freakish powers, she 
had the perilous reputation of being able to do. With 
never a doubt, therefore, that he was all the while 
belaboring the witch, our disappointed hunter waled 
his poor hound till the woods howled again with his 
piteous cries. 

This done, he posted away in hot haste to the 
cabin of the old crone, and demanded that she should 
show hiin her back — never doubting that he would 
find upon it the marks of the stripes he had inflicted 
upon his miserable beast. Of course the old woman 



186 TAGHCONIC. 

was in a tempest of wrath when she learned the 
errand of her visitor; and it is believed that he made 
a retreat more discreet and rapid than valiant, under 
a sudden shower of blows from that notorious article 
of house-hold furniture which was supposed to serve 
its mistress the double purpose of a broom by day 
and an aerial steed by night, and which now answered 
another very excellent turn. 

Another gentleman, to whom I mentioned this 
anecdote, tells nie an aboriginal legend of this same 
"White Deer. 

" Long before the Englishman set foot in the 
Housatouic valley," ho said, " the Indians used to 
notice a deer, of complete and spotless white, which 
came often, in the summer and autumn months, to 
drink at Onota. Against this gentle creature, no red 
man's arrow was ever pointed; for, in their simple 
faith, they believed that with her light and airy step 
she brought good fortune to the dwellers in the 
valle}'. ' So long,' the prophecy ran, ' So long as the 
snow-white doe comes to drink at Onota, so long 
famine shall not blight the Indian's harvest, nor 
pestilence come nigh his lodge, nor f oeman lay waste 
his country,' In the graceful animal, the tribe re- 
cognized and loved their good genius. Ho itmong 
them who dared to harm her would have met swift 
punishment as a sacrilegious wretch and traitor,'' 

Thus protected by the love of her simple friends, 
vear after vear, soon as the white blossoms cUuhed 
the cherry, the sacred deer came to drink at her 
chosen fountain; bringing good omens to all, and 



THE WHITE I>EEE. 187 

especially to the maiden who first espied her, glitter- 
ing brightly among the foliage. Finally she brought 
with her a fawn, if possible, of more faultless purity 
and grace than herself; and that year more than the 
usual plenty and happiness reigned around the lake. 
Not long after this, the first French and Indian war 
broke out, and a young French officer — Montalbert 
by name — was sent to incite the Housatonic Indians 
to join in the league against the English colonies. 

In his sacred character as an ambassador, he was 
welcomed to their lodges, had a seat at their council 
fire, and listened eagerly to their wild and marvellous 
tales. Among others, he heard the story of the White 
Deer; and, however incredulous of her sanctity, suffi- 
ciently admired the description of her beauty. 
Among those reckless and ambitious adventurers 
who set up the standard of France in Canada, it was 
a passion to carry away some wonderful trophy of 
the forest domain, to lay at the feet of their sovereign. 
Even the persons of the savages had thus been pre- 
sented at the Court of Versailles, and royal favor 
had not been niggard in rewarding the donors of the 
more unique and costly trophies of barbaric spl-endor. 

It was for such reasons that an uncontrollable de- 
sire to possess the skin of the White Deer took pos- 
session of Montalbert. He already enjoyed, in 
imagination, the reward which could not fail him 
who brought so rare and beautiful a peltry to the 
splendid Louis. 

Not fully aware of the veneration which the Deer 
received from the natives, he first offered liberal. 



188 TAGHCOKIC. 

rewards to the hunter who should bring him the 
coveted spoil. For half the proffered price, the chiefs 
would, perhaps, have alienated their faii'est hunting- 
grounds; but the proposition to destroy their sacred 
t)eer was received with utter horror and indignation. 
It was gently hinted to Montalbert that a repetition 
of the offer might ensure him the fate he designed 
for the Deer. 

But the Frenchman was not of a nature to be so 
baffled. He had noticed that one of the native war- 
riors — Wondb, by name — was already debased by 
the use of the white man's fire-water, of which 
Montalbert possessed a large supply. Concealing 
his purposes for a time, the adventurer sought out 
this Wondo, and shortly contrived to foment the 
poor fellow's appetite to siich a degree that he be- 
came the absolute slave of whoever had it in his 
power to minister to his desires. 

When the hunter was thought to be sufficiently 
besotted, Montalbert ventured to propose to him a 
plan to secure the skin of the White Deer. De- 
praved as he had become, Wondo at first recoiled 
from the thought, but appetite at length prevailed 
and he yielded to the tempter. 

Years of unmolested security had rendei'ed the 
Deer so confident in the friendship of man that, when 
at last treachery came, she proved an easy victim. 
Before conscience could awaken in the sacrilegious 
hunter, the gentle animal was taken and slain, and 
the ill-gotten fur was in the possession of the white 
man. 



THE WHITE DEEE. 189 

No sooner had Montalbert secured his prize than, 
concealing it in his baggage, he set out for Montreal; 
but the legend hints that he never reached the 
French border, and the beautiful skin of the Indians' 
sacred deer never added to the splendors of French 
royalty. 

Among the natives, the impious slaughter was not 
suspected until the fire-water of the slayer was ex- 
pended, and a returning consciousness com^^elled 
him to confess his deed of horror, and to meet the 
speedy A'engeance which atoned for it. 

Long and earnest were the supplications which 
the frightened natives sent up to the Great Spirit, 
that He would avert from the tribe the punishment 
due to such a crime; but its prosperity never again 
was what it had been, and its numbers slowly 
wasted away. 



XVI. 
ROARING BROOK AND TORY'S GLEN. 

Fear God, honor the King. — i^t. Peter. 

The powers that be are ordained of God. Whosoever there- 
fore resisteth the power, resisteth the ordinance of God ; 
and they that resist shall receive to themselves damnation. — 
St. Paul. 

And what saith the Koran ? ' ' Speak truth to thy Prince." — 
Blue Beard, 



" Every state and almost every county of New 
England has its Roaring Brook — a mountain stream- 
let, overhung by woods, impeded by a mill, en- 
cumbered by fallen trees, but ever rushing, racing, 
roaring down through gurgling gullies, and filling 
the forest with its delicious sound and freshness; 
the drinking places of home returning herds; the 
mysterious haunts of squirrels and blue jays; tho 
sylvan retreat of school-boys, who frequent it in the 
summer holidays, and mingle their restless thoughts 
with its restless, exuberant, and rejoicing stream." 

Thus speaks Professor Longfellow of one of the 
most charming features of our hillsides. Our Roar- 
ing Brook, I think must be familiar to the poet. 
Indeed, it is shrewdly suspected that it is the ori- 
ginal of that where Churchill and Kavanagh passed 
80 delightful a day with Cecilia. Alice, and the 



LONGFELLOW. 191 

schoolmaster's wife. If not, it might well have been, 
for the description is perfect; and there is every 
reason to believe that the author was familiar with 
the original. There is a shorter road to it now; 
but that over which the author of Kavanagh must 
have driven, is both so pleasant and so rich in me- 
mories that I prefer it still; and so will you. We 
will not hurry over it. 

Passing down the broad elm-shaded, old-fashioned, 
courtly street which leads east from the Pittsfield 
Park, we come, at the distance of a few rods to a 
bold and picturesque knoll, upon which stands one 
of those square old dwellings, such as it was the 
fashion of the New England gentry to build seventy- 
five or a hundred years ago: and which still delight 
their descendants, although, like antiques in other 
branches of art, they seem to defy modern imitation. 
This was long the country seat of Hon. Nathan 
Appleton of Boston, whose wife was a daughter of 
the builder of the mansion, and whose daughter be- 
came the wife of the poet Longfellow. On the 
landing of the broad stairs at the end of its long 
entrance hall, stood the old clock so touchingly com- 
memorated by him: 

" Somewhat back from the village street • 
Stands the old fashioned country seat; 
Across its antique portico, 
Tall poplar trees their shadows throw, — 
And from its station in the hall 
An ancient time piece says to all — 
Forever, never, 
Never, forever." 



192 TAGHCONIC. 

The mansion, now the residence of Mrs. Thomaa 
F. Plunkett, has been to some extent remodelled ex- 
ternally, but it preserves all the features noted in 
Mr. Longfellow's poem. 

A couple of miles further south, on what is known 
as the old road to Lenox, is the villa built by Oliver 
Wendell Holmes, in which he resided for several 
years. Dr. Holmes had an hereditary interest in 
Pittstield; his great-grand father Col. Jacob Wen- 
dell of Boston, with his kinsman, Philip Livingston 
of Albany, and Col. John Stoddard of Northampton — 
" the great New-Englauder " — having been equal 
owners of the township, six miles square, before its 
division by sale among the first settlers. These 
great proprietors — or at least Stoddard and Wen- 
dell — reserved some of the best lands for themselves; 
and Col. Wendell making choice of the farm on 
which Dr. Holmes afterwards built, either he or his 
son, Judge Oliver Wendell of Revolutionary fame, 
erected a mansion upon it for a country seat. In 
the fierce political feuds, before and during the 
war of 1812, Judge Wendell was a great stay and 
consolation to the Pittsfield Federalists to whom he 
gave much support, moral and pecuniary. The 
First Church still cherishes among its precious relics, 
a baptismal basin of solid silver, which he presented 
to the Federal section when it was divided on poli- 
tical issues. I Avill continue the story in the words 
of Dr. Holmes's speech at the Berkshire Jubilee in 
1844: 

" One of my earliest recollections is of an annual pilgrimage 



KOAEING BKOOK. 193 

made by my parents to the west. The young horse was 
brought up, fatted by a week's rest and high feeding, prancing 
and caracoling, to the door. It came to the corner and was 
soon over the western hills. He was gone a fortnight ; and 
one afternoon — it always seemed to me a sunny afternoon — 
we saw the equipage crawling from the west towards the old 
homestead; the young horse, who set out so fat and pranc- 
ing, worn thin and reduced by the long journey — the 
chaise covered with dust ; and all speaking of a terrible cru- 
sade, a formidable pilgrimage. Winter-evening stories told 
me where — to Berkshire, to the borders of New York — to 
the old domain ; owned so Jong that there seemed to be a sort 
of hereditary love for it. 

" Many years passed, and I travelled down the beautiful 
Rhine. I wished to see the equally beautiful Hudson. I 
found myself at Albany ; and a few hours brought me to 
Pittsfield. I went to the little spot — the scene of the pilgrim- 
age — a mansion — and found it surrounded by a beautiful 
meadow, through which the winding river made its way in a 
thousand graceful curves. The mountains reared their heads 
around it. The blue air, which makes our city pale cheeks 
again to deepen with the hue of health, coursing about it pure 
and free. I recognized the scene of the annual pilgrimage 
and since that I have made an annual visit to it." 

Three or four years after the Jubilee, Dr. Holmes 
built, upon a round knoll or hill, near the old mansion, 
a neat plain villa, commanding a fine view of the whole 
circle of Berkshire Mountains and of the Housatonic 
winding its serpentine way through the Canoe Mea- 
dows; so-called because the Mohegan Indians used 
to leave there their frail barks, perhaps to visit one 
of their burial grounds in the vicinity, or perhaps 
considering this the head of canoe navigation. The 

knoll was barren enough when the poet-professor 
17 



194 TAGHCONIC. 

built upon it, but his liberal planting has covered it 
with rich turf and an abundance of trees and shrub- 
bery. The place is however chiefly notable as having 
once been the home of Oliver Wendell Holmes, and 
the spot where he performed work, the fame of 
whose results is now sui-e to be as lasting as it ib 
universal. 

Some of these results are closely associated with 
the name of Berkshire. Among those locally most 
highly prized is Dr. Holmes's poem at the dedication 
of the Pittsfield Cemetery: equally charming in its 
way is "The New Eden," which was read before 
the Berkshire Horticultural Society at Stockbridge, 
in the September following the excessively dry 
summer of 1854, when 

" We saw tlie August sun descend 
Day after day with blood-red stain. 
And the blue mountains dimly blend 
With smoke-wreaths on the burning plain. 

" Beneath the hot Sirocco's wings 
We sat and told the withering hours, 
Till Heaven unsealed its azure springs, 
And bade them leap in flashing showers." 

In a still finer vein is " The Plough-boy," which 
was written for the anniversary of the Berkshire 
• Agricultural Society in October, 1849. Dr. Holmes 
was chairman of the committee upon the ploughing 
match; the large old church was, as usual on such 
occasions, crowded almost to suffocation, and when 
his turn came, he mounted half-way up the pulpit- 
stairs and read a report of which I quote a part: 

" Time and experience liave sanctioned the custom of putting 



OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. 195 

only plain, practical men upon this committee. Were it not 
BO, the most awkward blunders would be constantly occurring. 
The inhabitants of our cities, who visit the country during 
the fine season, would find themselves quite at a loss if an 
overstrained politeness should place them in this position. 
Imagine a trader, or a professional man, from the capital of 
the state, unexpectedly called upon to act in rural matters. 
Plough-shares are to him shares that pay no dividends. A 
coulter, he supposes, has something to do with a horse. Hia 
notions of stock were obtained in Faneuil Hall market, where 
the cuttle looked funnily enough, to be sure, compared with 
the living originals. He knows, it is true, that there is a 
difference in cattle, and would tell you that he prefers the 
sirloin breed. His children are equally unenlightened ; they 
know no more of the poultry -yard than what they have learned 
by having the chicken-pox, and playing on a Turkey carpet. 
Their small knowledge of wool-growing is lam(b)entable. 

The history of one of these summer-visitors shows how im- 
perfect is his rural education. He no sooner establishes him- 
self in the country than he begins a series of experiments. 
He tries to drain a marsh, but only succeeds in draining his 
own pockets. He offers to pay for carting off" a compost heap ; 
but is informed that it consists of corn and potatoes in an un- 
finished state. He sows abundantly, but reaps little or nothing, 
except with the implement which he uses in shaving, a pro- 
cess which is frequently performed for him by other people, 
though he pays no barber's bill. He builds a wire fence and 
paints it green, so that nobody can see it. But he forgets to 
order a pair of spectacles apiece for his cows, who, taking 
offense at something else, take his fence in addition, and make 
an invisible one of it, sure enough. And, finally, having 
bought a machine to chop*fodder, which chops off a good slice 
of his dividends, and two or three children's fingers, he con- 
cludes that, instead of cutting feed, he will cut farming ; and 
BO sells out to one of those plain, practical farmers, such as 
yon have honored by placing them on your committee, whoso 



196 TAGUCONIC. 

pockets are not so full when ho starts, but have fewer holea 
and not so many fingers in them. 

It must have been one of these practical mon whose love of 
his pursuits led him to send in to the committee the following 
lines, which it is hoped will be accepted as a grateful tribute to 
the noble art whose successful champions are now to be named 
and rewarded." 

Dr. Plolmes tlien read the poem now known to 
fame as tlie " The Plough-man," which, in his read- 
ing, all must have recognized as grand poetry. But 
I suspect that not one of the applauding audience — 
and probably not even the author himself — realized 
that they were listening to what would afterwards 
be recognized by the world's great critics as the 
finest georgic in any living language, or perhaps in 
any language whatever. I have my doubts if many 
understood to the full even the exquisite fun of the 
*' report." 

Yielding to his own good nature and the soft 
persuasions of a committee of ladies, Dr. Holmes 
once contributed a couple of poems to a fancy fair 
in Pittsfield. The writer does not gather them into 
the fold of his published collection, and I do not 
know that it is quite fair to print them here; but, of 
course, they got into the newspapers of the day, and 
I cannot deprive you of the pleasure of reading at 
least one of them, even if the poet does consider it 
a trifle, too light for preservation. 

Each of the poems was enclosed in an envelope 
bearing a motto; and the right to a first and second 
choice, guided by these, was disposed of in a rafile, 
to the no small emolument .of the object of the fair. 



EOaEING beook. 197 

I think that the two pieces are now represented by 
at least a square yard of the quaint ecclesiastical 
heraldry which illuminates the gorgeous chancel 
window of St. Stephen's Church. 

The motto of the first envelope ran thus: 

" Faith is tlie conquering angel's crown ; 

Who hopes lor grace must ask it ; 
Look shrewdly ere you lay me down ; 

I'm Portia's leaden casket." 

The following verses were found within. 

" Fair lady, whosoe'er thou art, 

Turn this poor leaf with tenderest care, 
And — hush, hush thy beating heart ; 

The One thou lovest will be there." 

" Alas 1 not loved by thee alone, 

Thine idol ever prone to range : 
To-day all thine, to-morrow flown, 

Frail thing that every hour may chai^ge. 

" Yet when that truant course is done, 

If thy lost wanderer reappear. 
Press to thy heart the only One 

That nought can make more truly dear 1 " 
Within this paper was a smaller envelope, con- 
taining a dollar bill, and this explanation of the 
poet's riddle. 

" Fair lady, lift thine eyes and tell 

If this is not a truthful letter ; 
This is the one (1) thou Invest well, 

And nought (0) can make thee love it better (10). 

Though fickle, do not think it strange 
That such a friend is worth possessing : 

For one that gold can never change 

Is Heaven's own dearest earthly blessing. 



198 TAGHOONIC. 

You see now, in part, why our people claim a sort 
of joint ownership with Cambridge and Boston in 
Dr. Holmes and his fame. They have moreover a 
real affection for him, which leads them even to con- 
done his irreverent sneer at Pittsfield's Old Elm, as 
" sadly in want of a new wig of green leaves : " and 
the charity which covers a multitude of sins could 
stretch its skirts no further than that. He has so 
much human nature in him that, in spite of some 
social and educational impediments, he. every little 
while, gets right down to the heart of things. That 
is the Berkshire version of the " one touch of nature 
that makes the whole world kin." And that is what 
makes Dr. Holmes the most popular of scholarly 
writers. Do you suppose the world would tolerate 
so much learning in any body else ? 

A very few rods beyond the Wendell Farms, we 
come to Arrow-head, the fine estate formerly owned 
by Herman Melville. Mr. Melville is a grandson of 
that Major Thomas Melville, who, a few generations 
ago, was known to all Bostonians as the last genuine 
specimen of the gentleman of the old school left in 
the city, the last wearer of the costume of the Revo- 
lution, and the last survivor of the Harbor tea party. 
His son, of the same name and rank, was commandant 
of the military post at Pittsfield during the war of 
1812, and, after the war, president of the Agricultural 
Society, and otherwise a leader of men in Berkshire, 
besides being a man of rare culture. With him, his 
nephew, Herman, was domiciliated for a time, while 
in his youth, he, played school-master in a wild dis- 
trict — under the shadow of Rock Mountain, T think. 



HERMAN MELVILLE. 199 

It "vras probably the memory of this early experi- 
ence which led Mr. Melville in 1850, in the first flush 
of his literary success, to retire to Pittsfield, and soon 
purchase a fine estate with a spacious old house; ad- 
joining, in the rear, the farm of his early residence 
with his uncle. This quaint old mansion, he made 
the home of the most free-hearted hospitality; and 
also a house of many stories — writing in it Moby 
Dick and many other romances of the sea, and also 
" The Piazza Tales," which took their name from a 
piazza built by their author upon the north end of 
the house, and commanding a bold and striking view 
of Greylock and the intervening valley. " My 
chimney and I," a humorous and sjjicy essay, of 
which the cumbersome old chimney — overbearing 
tyi'ant of the home — is the hero, was also written 
here. And so, of course, was "October Mountain," 
a sketch of mingled philosophy and word-painting, 
which found its inspiration in the massy and brill- 
ian tints pi-esented by a prominent and thickly- 
wooded projection of Washington Mountain, as seen 
from the south-eastern windows at Arrow-Head, on a 
fine day after the early frosts. Mr, Melville was 
almost a zealot in his love of Berkshire scenery, and 
there was no more ardent and indefatigable excur- 
sionist among its hills and valleys. 

And now, let us drive on to the Roaring Brook, 
which — as you may possibly recollect — we set out 
to visit. Our way lies through pleasant rustic scenes 
and the pretty agricultural hamlet of New Lenox, 



200 TAGHCONIC. 

Passing this, and guided by the sound of the brook, 
we come to the mouth of the Tory's Glen, through 
which its waters leap, tumbling down. 

From the broad summit of Washington Mountain, 
the brook comes dashing down the deep ravine, 
smiling in the rare sunshine, glooming in the fre- 
quent shade, brawling with the impeding boulders, 
toying in amber pools with the mossy banks; but 
for the most part rushing impatiently from fall to 
fall, for five restless miles, until, just without the 
glen, it loses itself in the indolent curves of the 
Housatonic, which here puts on its gentlest mood. 

It must be a sweet relief to the water — vexed 
and wearied by its rough passage among the sharp- 
angled flint rocks, and by its arduous labors in turn- 
ing mill wheels — thus to repose at length in the 
flower-bordered bed of the river, and wander about 
the meadows, in what leisurely and graceful curves 
it will. 

Just below the entrance to the Tory's Glen, at a 
point in the road where it winds around the base of 
Melville's grand October Mountain, the curves dis- 
play themselves in a breadth of beauty which they 
rarely exhibit north of Stockbridge, and help make 
up a much admired view. It is the beginning of 
that system of beauty which distinguishes the Stock- 
bridge valley, and affords a kindly relief to the eye, 
if it wearies of mountains, lakes and waterfalls. 

One warm October day, many years ago, a three 
miles walk in pleasant company, brought me to the 
smiling and fertile valley, just without the glen. 



BOABING BROOK. 201 

and following directions given with kindly zeal, we 
soon entered it mentally contrasting the courtesies 
of rustic life in New Lenox, with the urbanities of 
Broadway, not to any flattering extent in the interest 
of the city. 

You can see the black opening in the mountain 
side which indicates the location of the glen from 
many points in the village of Pittsfield, and if you 
ask the people what it is they will perhaps tell you, 
if they are of the fanciful sort: " Oh, that is the 
Jaws of Darkness; " and you will reply, " Oh yes, I • 
see it is ! " And, although you would not be quite 
correct, the contrast between the cheerful light of 
the hamlet and the wild, sombre solitude of the 
mountain gorge is strikingly impressive. From the 
shadeless field, you enter upon overarched paths — 
among mossy trees, along precipitous rocks, under 
the shadow of overhanging mountains. The heart 
feels the change instantly, and conforms itself in- 
stinctively to it. 

Here we find again those adamantine blocks of 
flint-rock which characterize and rudely adorn this 
whole mountain range. Sometimes they lie con- 
fusedly l^pon the mountain's steep slope; then, again, 
they impede the rushing course of the brook. In 
the bed of the stream, the ever-rolling current, in the 
course of ages, has polished the surface and rounded 
the edges of even these obdurate masses. It ia 
startling to think by how many years of constant at- 
trition the soft flowing wave accomplished its purpose. 
How many centuries ago did the savage stoop to 



•20-2 TAGHCOXIO. 

drink at this mountain stream, and think of nothing 
but the cooling draught — least of all that the 
smooth, gliding fluid was bearing away a portion of 
the solid rock whereon he stood, to form a soil for 
a conquering race ! 

These rocks form the bed of the brooks; and are 
piled up along its banks in mad confusion, with 
crevices and dens between and beneath them, which 
in former days sheltered a tenement-house popula- 
tion of wild beasts. In one cave which lies under 
• the road. Revolutionary tradition affirms that an 
outlawed Tory, one Gideon Smith of Stockbridge, 
once found refuge for weeks. It is a dreary habita- 
tion — not in the ornamented style of grotto at all — 
a couple of small rude chambei"s built of huge over- 
lapping flint-rocks, without a pendent stalactite or 
sparkling encrustation, nor even a grotesquely 
shapeu fracture, to relieve their barren walls. Not 
a desirable residence, in any respect ; and, since the 
war has been ended for a hundred vears, and it can do 
the country no harm — and, especially, as he is dead 
and it can do him no good — I sincerely pity that 
hunted Tory, driven out to make his home auiono; wild 
beasts. Although, I dare say, he came out, as often 
;v> he dared, to sun himself, as the badgers do, in the 
openings of the wood, if he could find any in that 
shady retreat. 

I do not know what offense had made him espe- 
cially obnoxious to the committees of vigilance, to 
which the safety of the young republic was en- 
trusted; but there is a touching anecdote of him. 



tort's glbn. 203 

which, if it was known, ought to have softened even 
tne asperities of war times. It is to the effect that, 
when concealed in some hiding-place at home, he 
made his wife cause all his children to pass daily 
before the crevice which supplied him with light and 
air; so that he might see their innocent faces and 
be comforted with the knowledge of their health and 
safety. Not a bad man at heart, that ! 

Smith seems to have been often a " hunted " man. 
In May, 1776, he harbored a certain Captain McKay, 
a British prisoner of war, who had escaped from Hart- 
ford, by the aid of John Graves, a Pittsfield Tory. 
Smith's treasonable hospitality becoming known to the 
committees, the hue and cry was raised against him; 
and a party, of which Linus Parker, a famous Pittsfield 
sharp-shooter, was one, repaired to his house. His 
family reported him not at home, but the seekers, 
confident that he was in the barn, summoned him to • 
surrender. He appeared at the half-open door, peered 
curiously around, and, after some parley, gave him- 
self up. Smith and Parker were nevertheless per- 
sonally upon friendly terms; and after the war, the 
former being, with his wife, on a visit to Parker's 
house, Smith reverted to the incident described, and 
said that when he opened the barn-door, being an 
extraordinary runner, he felt certain of making good 
his escape; but, seeing Parker with his famous rifle 
in hand, he \^'as afraid to make the attempt. 

" And now, Parker," he added, " I want to know 
if you really would have shot me ?" 

"As quick as I ever shot a deer ! " was the reply. 



204 TAGHCONIC. 

" Then it would have been all over with me," ex- 
claimed his friend, feeling that he spoke in truthful 
earnest, and trembling at the memory of the danger 
which he had escaped. 

Such are the amenities of civil war. There were a 
good many Tories in Berkshire county, as in eveiy 
other; made so doubtless, as in all civil conflicts men 
range themselves, both on the better and the worse 
side, some from base and selfish, some from pure and 
noble, but most from mixed, motives. The Tories 
of Berkshire — it might be courteous to call them 
" loyalists," but it would hardly be distinctive, since 
loyalty to the crown meant treason to the people — 
the Tories of Berkshire were mostly of the wealthier, 
the magisterial, and the more refined, classes; and of 
those in other grades of society who were bound to 
them by one tie or another. Not that all, or even a 
- majority, of these classes failed under the test which 
tried men's souls: but, as ever, wealth and ofiicial 
position proved powerful persuaders against revolu- 
tion: and, early in the war at least, the leading Tories 
evidently believed in the prophecies which they ut- 
tered so unctuously that, to Whig ears, they sounded 
'unpleasantly like threats: to wit, that the king's 
generals would come down upon the rebellious colony 
from Canada, with his resistless army and his savage 
allies; and that Berkshire would be the first county 
to feel his vengeance, as it had been the first to pro- 
voke it by suppressing his courts. It was a prudent 
error which made most of the Tories; they knew not 
what this means : " he that seeketh his life, shall lose 



toet's glen. 205 

it " — lacked the virtue whicli risks all in conflict for 
the right; and had neither the daring wisdom nor the 
wise courage which plucks the flower, safety, from the 
thistle, danger. Before the war was over, most of 
them were — often by rather heroic remedies — cured 
of their perversity — at least as to its external mani- 
festation. I fear the cure was not always radical; 
but it sometimes was, as in one instance which I am 
going to cite for you. 

* No doubt, however, many were religiously sincere 
in their loyalty: and all were able to make a very 
plausible, even if hollow, defence from Holy Writ. 

When a man has made up his mind to do a mean, 
vicious or cruel thing in his own interest, a text of 
scripture, which seems to commend or justify it, is 
very soothing. I think some of us can recollect 
when the garbled text " servants obey your masters," 
and St, Paul's injunction to a fugitive slave — 
Onesimus by name — salved the conscience of almost 
an entire nation, sorely lacerated by all the rest of 
the New Testament, to say nothing of the Deca- 
logue, the Declaration of Independence and the great 
bo'ok of nature. The Tories could make out a much 
better case than that; as you see by glancing at the 
head of this article. Those of them who were, or 
had been, magistrates or officers in the militia had 
moreover taken the most iron-clad of oaths, not only 
to bear faith and true allegiance to King George, 
but to the best of their power, to defend him 
against all traitorous conspiracies, and to make all 
such known to him. " All these things," said the 



206 TAGHOONIC. 

subscribers to this oath, " I do plainly and sincerely 
acknowledge and swear according to the express 
words by me spoken, and according to the plain 
common-sense and understanding of the same words, 
without any equivocation or mental reservation 
whatever: " and, however the majority of good meii 
might find that in the conduct of " the man George," 
which released them from the obligations of that 
oath, and discharged them from all allegiance to 
him, I hope that you will not bestow unmitigated 
reprobation upon those whose tender conscience, and 
the loyalty to " His Sacred Majesty," sedulously in- 
stilled by education into their heart of hearts, re- 
fused to be so relieved. 

I am speaking of moral condemnation only: how- 
ever tenderly we may appreciate the sentiment of 
natural, but mistaken, loyalty which governed the 
conscientious adherent to the royal cause, the com- 
mittees of safety and vigilance could take little ac- 
count of it. Stern necessity, and duty to a holier 
cause, imperatively demanded that it should be re- 
pressed with a strong hand. And it was done; 
harshly perhaps and unwisely at times; but effectu- 
ally, and not with half the vindictiveness and cruelty 
which would surely have been visited upon the 
committee-men had the Revolution failed. 

Pardon me for this prolixity; but I am heart-sick 
of the overstrained magnanimity, falsely so called, 
which concentrates all its charities and praises for 
the defeated champions of the wrong, and reserves 
all its censures and denunciations for the triumph- 



CONVERTING A TORT. 207 

ant defenders of the right. If I recall some of 
the traits which relieve somewhat the odium justly- 
due to even conscientious support of tyranny and 
antagonism to freedom, or something of the imper- 
fections which marred the record of the patriots, 
lee me not be construed as denying that, to the 
memory of the rudest sincere Whig, honor and glory 
are due which that of the most refined and con- 
scientious Tory must never share. 

And now let me to my stories, the first of which 
I heard from that best, and most abundantly sup- 
plied, of all Berkshire story tellers. Governor George 
N. Briggs; who, by the by, I am sure would have 
sanctioned the sentiments I have just expressed. 

In the early part of the Revolution there lived in 
Lenox a staunch old Tory, who openly professed his 
allegiance to King George, and his hostility to the 
rebel cause; but, as he confined his opposition to 
words, and was greatly respected and beloved by 
his fellow citizens, for his many excellent qualities 
as a friend and neighbor, he was allowed for a long 
while to enjoy his opinions unmolested. But the 
contest between England and the colonies waxed 
every day more bitter, and the Committee of Safety 
began to be troubled with doubts if it were con- 
sistent with their duty to permit one who so loudly 
vaunted his toryism to live among them, and en- 
courage others to commit outrages of which he 
would not be personally guilty. 

The matter was often a subject of deliberation, 
but the committee were reluctant to act. At length, 



208 TAGHCONIC. 

however, in some dark and trying hour — perhaps 
in the bitterness of defeat, perhaps after hearing of 
the horrors of Wyoming — they resolved to move. 
Or, perhaps, as happened in some emergencies, their 
zeal was quickened by orders from head-quarters. 
At any rate, paying a visit to the Tory, they in- 
formed him, they had come to the conclusion that 
his example was too pernicious to the cause of 
liberty to be any longer permitted. They regretted 
the circumstance, but their duty was imperative; in 
short, he must take the oath of allegiance to the 
colonies — or swing. 

The oath was peremptorily and unhesitatingly re- 
fused; and the next step was an extemporaneous 
gallows, erected in the public street, beneath which 
the recusant was placed, and the rope tightened 
around his throat, but immediately loosened and the 
oath again proffered, and again declined. - 

All arguments and threats proving abortive, the 
contemptuous loyalist was again drawn up, and 
left to hang until he became purple in the face — 
care being taken to lower him and apply restoratives, 
before life was extinct. Consciousness being once 
more restored, the oath was again tendered, and he 
was entreated to yield to the necessity of the case: 
but his stubborn spirit was not yet broken; he re- 
fused to renounce his allegiance to the Crown. 

Things had now come to an awkward pass; and 
the committee, who possibly were by this time sorry 
they had taken the matter in hand, retired to the 
tavern for consiiltation. The New-England com 



CONTEKTING A TOBY. 209 

mittee-man could no more deliberate without his 
mug of flip than the New Amsterdam burgher with- 
out his pipe of tobacco. But whatever counsels of 
mercy there may have been under that genial in- 
fluence (of which the prisoner was not denied his 
consoling cup) it was finally resolved that, having 
put their hands to the plough, it would never do to 
turn back. Regard for dignity and the authority of 
the committee forbade it. In short the good of the 
cause required that the prisoner should take the oath, 
or suffer death for his contumacy. 

The loyalist received their decision with unflinch- 
ing determination not to yield a hair's breadth in 
what he believed to be the right. The committee 
were equally resolved, and he was again drawn up — 
perhaj^s mth some angry violence. And at once it 
seemed that the work of death had been too effectu- 
ally done. 

It may be that the committee had not designed to 
carry their measures to so extreme a length. Pos- 
sibly they doubted if the authority given them to 
** handle the Tories " was suflScient to warrant them 
in it, for, although the people of Berkshire, from 
1'7'74 to 1781, would admit no courts of law among 
them — submitting only to their own committees — 
there was a tacit exception of capital cases, which 
were tried before the Supreme Court at Springfield. 
But, whatever may have been the feeling or intention 
of the committee in their anger, the sight they now wit- 
nessed might well bring back their old affection for 
a tried friend and kind neighbor. They hastened to 



210 TAGnCONIC. 

cut down the body, and use every effort to undo 
their fatal work. 

There seemed at first little hope of reanimating 
the senseless clay; but at length the limbs slightly 
relaxed their rigidity, the eyes moved, and the livid 
hue began to disappear from the cheek. Conscious- 
ness slowly and j^ainfully returned; the victim sat 
upright — and the question was again asked : " Will 
you swear ? " " Yes," faintly responded the half-dead 
convert to patriotism. 

A few moments afterwards, as he was sitting be- 
fore, the tavern fire and a glass of steaming punch — 
furnished by the order, if not at the expense, of the 
committee — warming himself after his dangerous 
exposure to the chills of the shadow of death, he was 
heard to mutter thoughtfully to himself ^— " Well ! 
this is a hard way to make Whigs — but Wll do it I " 

And, accordingly, from that day to the close of the 
war, he was one of the most zealous and unwavering 
of the patriots. 

Another story illustrates still more remarkably the 
same trait of unflinching integrity. It was told to 
me by the late Hon. Henry Hubbard, who was well 
versed in Berkshire traditions; but I remember %o 
have read it in my childhood, and, although I cannot 
recall the name of the book in which I found it, it is 
likely that I have used some of the phraseology 
which was impressed upon my youthful memory. 

It seems that, at some time during the Revolution, 
one Nathan Jackson of Tyringham — a romantic and 
beautiful farming town of Southern Berkshire — Was 



A toey's integbity. 211 

accused of the crime of high treason against the 
United Colonies, or States. The trial was to be at 
Springfield, but the court did not sit for some weeks — 
during which interval Jackson was confined in the 
Berkshire county gaol, at Great Barrington, which 
was in so dilapidated a condition that he might 
easily have escaped at any time, had he not scorned 
an act which might indicate cowardice, or reluctance 
to suffer for his principles. Unwilling, however, to 
waste his time in idleness, he applied to the sheriff 
for permission to go out daily to work, promising to 
return faithfully to the prison every night. So well 
was his character for integrity established, that, al- 
though he was committed on a capital charge, and 
did not deny the facts alleged against him, the 
sheriff did not hesitate to comply with his request. 
And so well was that confidence deserved, that the 
prisoner never failed to return to his quarters punctu- 
ally every night to be locked up. 

"What follows is a still stronger proof of the re- 
liance placed upon his word. The court was to be 
held at Springfield, and the journey to it was then 
a weary one, over rough forest-roads. Jackson was 
the only prisoner to be carried on, and the sheriff 
complained bitterly of the trouble to which he was 
subjected, particularly at this busy season of the 
year. The Tory told him that it was quite unne- 
cessary for him to go — he could go just as well by 
himself; and again he was trusted, and set out alone 
and on foot, to go fifty miles through the woods to 
surrender himself to be tried for his life, upon a 



212 TAGHCONIC. 

charge wliere he could not hope for an acquittal, and 
by a tribunal whose right to judge him he could 
conscientiously deny. Sui'ely, if ever a man had an 
excuse to palliate a violation of confidence, it was 
he; the idea, however, seems never to have occurred 
to him. 

Luckily for him, on his way he was overtaken by 
the Hon. Mr. Edwards, then a member of the Execu- 
tive Council, to attend a session of which body he 
was then on his way to Boston. This gentleman 
entered into conversation with Jackson, and, with- 
out disclosing his own name or official position, 
learned the nature of his companion's journey, and 
something of his history. Pondering upon what he 
had heard, Mr. Edwards pursued his way to Boston; 
and Jackson, trudging on, soon reached Sj^ringfield, 
and surrendered himself, was tried; did not deny 
the facts alleged against him, and, as a matter of 
course, was found guilty and condemned to death. 

In due course the petitions for pardon of persons 
under sentence of death, were considei'ed by the 
Honorable Council which then exercised the su- 
pi'eme executive authority in Massachusetts. After 
all had been read Mr. Edwards asked if none had 
been received in favor of Nathan Jackson of Tyring- 
ham. The reply was that there was none; and a 
member of the council, who had been present at the 
trial, remarked that the case was one of such un- 
doubted and aggravated guilt, and the attachment 
of the condemned man to the King's cause was so 
inveterate, that there could be no reason for granting 



A tort's integrity. 213 

a pardon in this case, unless it was extended in 
every other. 

Mr. Edwards, in reply, related his adventure with 
Jackson on the road, and also his story, which he 
had taken pains to have substantiated by the sheriff 
of Berkshire. A murmur of admiration went round 
the council boai'd; it was unanimously agreed that 
such a man ought not to die upon the gallows, and, 
after some brief discussion, an unconditional pardon 
was made out and dispatched to Springfield. 

The stories suggested by the Tory's Glen have 
led us far away from it; and we will return only for 
the purpose of passing again through the pleasant 
village of New Lenox and its sunny valley; and to 
answer a question asked me by a companion with 
whom I once rode through it: "Has so pretty a 
place no story ? " 

To be sure it has; but of that kind which is best 
told in verse. 

SuiravvALE. 

One sunny summer afternoon. 
The gladdest in all joyous June, 
Happiest man beneath heaven's dome, 
A farmer brought his young wife home ; 
And, as they reached the mountain's brow, 
And saw his cottage smile below. 
He bade his bonnie bride mark well 
How gaily there the sunshine fell. 

June came again — a babe was born. 

It came once more — the child was gone : 

Yet, though the farmer's face grew sad. 



214 TAGHCONIC. 

A smile of new-found peace, it had. 
He strove the mother's grief to calm, 
And said the June days brought a balm; 
For something more than sunshine fell 
From wliere their child had gone to dwell. 

June came again — the farmer's wife 
Was passing from our mortal life ; 
They laid her in our stnniest glade 
Before its frailest flowers could fade. 
That year the farmer did not mark 
If earth or sky were bright or dark. 
Yet still the careless sunshine fell 
Gaily, as if all things were well, 

June cometh now. From scenes the dead 
Had left too lone, the farmer fled ; 
And strangers, from his lonely hearth. 
Dispel the gloom with household mirth, 
V\'hile not a tone in any voice 
Says some have wept, where they rejoice ; 
And still the blithesome sunlight falls 
Aa gaily round those cottage walls. 



xvn. 

BASH-BISH AND THE DOME. 

*' For here these pathless mountains free 
Gave shelter to my love and me. 
And every rock and every stone 
Bare witness that he was my own." — (7a»»p6«Sf. 



Doubtless the wildest and most awe-inspiring 
gorge among the Berkshire Hills is the deep and 
shaggy recess in the western side of Mount Wash- 
ington, into which the famous cascade, Bash-Bish 
Falls, comes dashing in a striking series of bold 
leaps and plunges. Speaking of the passage down- 
ward, along the side of the little cataract, a writer 
familiar with the Alps, but a little inclined to start- 
ling statements, says ; " the descent over the rocks, 
along the awful rent made in the mountain, was 
wild as an Alpine gorge^ and even more perilous." 

Mount Washington is the huge mountain pile — 
a portion of the Taconic Range, which fills the 
south-western corner of Berkshire. In grandeur it 
is rivalled by Grey lock alone among our hills; the 
inhabited portion having an elevation of from fifteen 
hundred to two thousand feet above the level of the 
surrounding valleys, while the summit rises to an 



216 • TAGHCONIC. 

altitude five or six hundred feet greater. Its grand- 
eur, however, comes from other peculiarities as well 
as from its height. It has also long been famed for 
scenes of picturesque beauty; and has of late gained 
new renown and interest as the locality of Sky 
Farm; the romantic home of the charming child- 
poets, Elaine and Dora Goodale. 

If you chance to be in the vicinity of Great Bar- 
ington, or if you desire, and have leisure for, a pro- 
longed drive, your better way to Bash-Bish is through 
that town and Egremont, past Bryant's Green River 
and over Mount Washington. That is certainly the 
old fashioned poetic route; but I am going to tell 
you how the falls looked, one day, to a field-meet- 
ing of certain scientific associations of Troy, Albany 
and Pittsfield. 

Bash-Bish lies at an equal distance from Albany 
and Pittsfield, and an hour's ride on the Boston and 
Albany railroad brought the excursionists to Chat- 
ham, midway between the two — while another 
hour on the Harlem road carried the united party to 
the pleasant village of Copake, renowned chiefly for 
its iron works. 

The location of the village is unique: with an out- 
look oyer the smiling fields of New York, on the 
west, while the frowning mountains of Massachusetts 
almost over-hang it on the east. 

The falls are about a mile and a half from the 
village, and not many rods east of the state boundary 
line. The road to them is delightful. Indeed the 
first glimpses of it were so enticing that a majority 



BASH-BISH. 217 

of our party preferred to walk over it, although our 
hosts — the Troy and Albany Associations — had 
provided liberally for riding, and the kindly people 
who welcomed us, gave warning that the ladies, at 
least, should reserve all their strength for the falls. 

After lingering awhile in the village, we moved 
on, to the great stone stack of the iron blast-furnace: 
the most picturesque of manufacturies, and the only 
one which adds to, rather than mars, the attractive- 
ness of a region like this. 

A little further, and we came to the handsome and 
finely located Swiss cottage of Mr. Alfred Douglas, 
of New York, the proprietor of Bash-Bish and its 
romantic surroundings; where, by his hospitable in- 
vitation, we wandered at will through the spacious 
grounds and deliciously-filled conservatories. Even 
after leaving this charming resting place, most of us 
did not heed the hurrying summons we began to hear 
in the impatient roar of the cascade; but dallied 
listlessly in the park-like groves, by the shady way- 
side, or on the banks of the stream whose dashing, 
flashing, gleaming rocks and amber pools reminded 
us of our own Roaring Brook. 

Still the day was not very far advanced when we 
came where the gorge, widening a little, throws up 
its baiTiers into bare cliffs and shaggy, precipitous, 
or pillar-like, eminences. Through the top of the 
central cliff, the stream has worn down its way, 
leaving its walls on either side like huge horns. Be- 
tween these in no very great volume — but snowy, 
silvery, summer eoud, foam-like ^ its waters como 
19 



218 TAfiHCONIC. 

down in a succession of bold leaps, divided midway 
by a i-ocky shelf into " The Tvvin Falls," A column 
worthy, almost, of the Alps or the Yosemite. One 
peculiarity of the basin at the foot of the falls, is the 
great variety of views which it affords of the cascade 
and the rocks which mingle grandly or grotesquely 
with it. And, wandering from, point to point in 
search of these — now standing on the rudest of 
rustic bridges, and now on slippery rocks; here on 
bare and gravelly beaches, and there under green 
branches — scores of laughing groups helped to fill 
up and enliven the landscape for each other. This 
for half an hour, or more; then ambition seized them. 
" By that sin fell the angels " — Shakespeare's angels; 
and the danger seemed imminent that it would have 
a similar result for ours. But the first effect wa& 
quite the reverse : it carried them right up — almost 
straight up — the steepest of all possible log-and- 
rock-encumbered paths, to the Eagle's Nest, Prospect 
Rock, and all manner of preposterous places. And 
grosser mortals, whether laden with scientific lore or 
otherwise, went along per-force. 

It was impossible in the brief time of our visit to 
make a thorough survey of the falls, and I there- 
fore condense the detailed account of President 
Hitchcock, who devoted three visits to it: 

From a spot upon Mount Washington wliose beauty the 
President glowingly eulogizes, one descends, two thousand 
feet, to find himself by a noisy stream, about a rod wide, 
which for a short distance, tumbles rapidly down between 
perpendicular cliffs of talcose slate, a hundred feet high. 
Soon, striking a huge barrier of this rock, the brook turns, at 



BASH-BISH. 219 

right angles, to the left, and for fifty or sixty rods, rushes 
down a declivity of eighty degrees. Here the water has per- 
formed its greatest wonders. Sinking its bed for unknown 
ages, and at the same time beating with its waters on the 
edges of the slate, it has worn a dome-shaped cavity to the 
depth of one hundred and ninety-four feet. At the bottom of 
this cavity, one is at the foot of a vast wall of rock [the base 
of " The Eagle's nest,"] which encloses him on the east, 
south and west; and as it rises, curves outward. So that, 
looking upward, he sees it, at the height of nearly two hun- 
dred feet, projecting full twenty-five feet from its base. From 
the uppermost fall, the stream leaps in several smaller cascades 
perhaps sixty feet in the aggregate, half hidden by huge 
boulders and over-hanging trees. At length we arrive at the 
principal fall. The water divided in twain by a huge boulder 
poised upon its brink, falls over a nearly straight and per- 
pendicular precipice, about sixty feet, into a deep basin. Anj 
single view, as this detailed description shows, can take in 
but a small portion of the scenery of Bash-Bish Gorge. 
President Hitchcock estimates the perpendicular height from 
the top of the highest precipice to the bottom of the lowest 
fall at three hundred and twenty feet. 

Among the striking prospects offered by these 
stupendous heights, there was a very clear one that 
some unfortunates would glance off the paths, 
slippery with the needles of evergreen foliage, and, 
going sheer down that fearful distance, get undis- 
tinguishably mashed upon the bare rock beneath: 
which, for the moment, would have been disagree- 
able, however much of pleasing interest it might 
have added to the scene for future visitors. But 
the day passed with no more thrilling incident than 
a sudden plunge from an insecure plank into the cold 



220 TAGHCONIC. 

stream. Never was so adventurous climbing with 
so little of startling adventure. 

As the afternoon wore to a close, we gathered for 
the favorite landscape of the gorge: that from Sun- 
set Cliff, which rises a few rods below the fall. 
Here the view is down the gorge, westward. For a 
mile, there is a wooded glen with the sti'eam thread- 
ing its silver way through it, while at its termination 
two abrupt hills — Cedar and Elk Mountains — rise 
on either side, like Herculean pillars, to the height 
of more than a thousand feet. Near the end of the 
glen we see the fitly placed cottage of Mr. Douglas, 
with the American flag floating in grace and beauty 
by its side. But this bold and pleasing "picture is 
only the foreground to the grand view of the Cats- 
kills, which are seen to loom up in the distance 
lofty, majestic, dim and cloud-like. In perfectly 
clear days their outlines are sharply cut on the blue 
sky or sunset clouds. One may doubt which of the 
two aspects is the most to be enjoyed. We were en- 
raptured with that which was vouchsafed us. 

The explorations of the day over, carriages were 
more in request than they had been in the morning, 
although an enthusiastic minority preferred to stroll 
back as they came. Then we dined luxuriously in 
the rude but comfortable freight depot: the Albany 
and Troy Associations still being our hosts; and Mr. 
H. S. Goodale, of Sky Farm, adding to the fare two 
fat turkeys, one of them including in its dressing a 
witty poem of welcome, and the other a mineral- 



BASH-BI8H. 221 

ogical tribute in the shape of a superb specimen of 
kyanite. 

Finally we gathered in the tasteful little church, 
to ascertain what anybody had done for science 
during the day. I had not observed that any soid 
had cared for anything except, with might and 
main, to enjoy the scenery, the scrambles, the ram- 
bles, the climbing and all the rest of the woodland 
jollity. Somebody has said that notes to a fine poem 
are like an anatomical lecture upon a savory joint; 
and I greatly feared that some such comparison 
would fit a scientific report upon Bash-Bish. But 
those field-meeting savans, with their eyes trained 
to special observation, are at home everywhere 
with their minute philosophy ; and everywhere find 
sources of rare enjoyment which, however they 
may have before been " caviare to the multitude," 
they contrive to make the multitude enjoy with 
them. 

In some departments, Bash-Bish had proved a rich 
field. Professor Peck, the State Botanist of New 
York, and a specialist in fungi, had detected in the 
gorge five species which were new to him, as well 
as some rare and beautiful varieties of the fringed 
gentian. Mr. Homes, the State Librarian, had made 
a study of the peculiar and valuable hematite ores. 
Others contributed their share of scientific dis- 
cussion : so that the day was found to have been not 
altogether squandered in pleasure. 

The notes to the poetry of the occasion were 
furnished, in anything but an anatomical style, by. 



222 TAGHCOXia 

learned and quaint Professor Tatlock of Pittsfield. 
" They might be epitomized, said a writer in an 
Albany newspaper, by the line of Horace: 
NuUus arjfento color abdito in terris : 

or, in other words, what is all the beauty of 
nature that we have been admiring, ^Tithout men 
and women — and especially the Albany Institute 
and their friends — to admire it ? " 

There seemed nobody to say anything for the 
reallv very interest in 2: local history of Moimt Wash- 
iui!:tou and its yiciuitv. I niiorht indeed, myself, 
hiive told the little storv which I am now goina: to 
tell you; but there were reasons why I should ayoid 
doing so. 

The Swiss Lovers. 

You may have read — or, at any rate, whether you 
have read it or not, it is true — that>, at a very early 
date, there was a Swiss colony of iron-makei'S upon 
Mount Washington. Miss Sedgwick assert* that 
they gave the name of Bash-Bish to the cascade — 
that being the patois of their canton for a small water- 
fall. But I have my doubts as to that: first, because 
two or three Swiss gentlemen of whom I made inquiry 
were not aware of anything of the kind; and, 
secondly, because Dr. O'Callaghan, the New York 
historian, once pointed me to an old vocabulary of 
the language of some western Indian tribes — in 
Illinois, I think — in which Bash-a-Bish is given as 
signifyiug a water-fall. Still Miss Sedgwick may 
be correct, as she had visited in Switzerland, and was 



THB SWISS LOVBBS. 223 

the intimate friend of the historian, Sismondi, and 
his family. A resident of one canton in Switzerland 
is not necessarily familiar with the patois of another, 
and makers of Indian vocabularies are a long way 
from infallible, as I grieve to know. 

But, hovrever it may have been with regard to 
Bash-Bish, Miss Sedgwick is certainly good authority 
for the assertion that the Swiss colony gave the name 
of Mount Rhighi to the locality where they settled, 
in honor of the famoiis mountain they had left be- 
hind. She was a descendant of the most prominent 
of the early settlers of southern Berkshire, and was 
likely to be Avell informed in regard to its history. 

One moi-e preliminary. The brown hematites, 
which abound in Berkshire, from Mount Washington 
to Lanesboro' and Cheshire — as well as here at Co- 
pake, and in the neighboring Connecticut town of 
Salisbury — are among the most precious of iron 
ores. They are among the most beautiful, also, when, 
as they often do, they assume the stalactical form. 
The black and glossy bubbling shape of many speci- 
mens gives the impression that they were made by 
heat; but the real agency was water. The hematite 
beds were certainly deposited f i-om the decomposition 
of primitive, or magnetic, ores which once lay at 
points higher than they. Break one of those glossy 
pieces, and you shall see the stalactical crystalization 
in exquisitely delicate and symmetrical radiation. It 
is worth one's while, even in the region of rarest 
landscape, to stop curiously by the side of a rusty 
ore-heap. There is nothing more admirable in the 



224 TA6HCONI0. 

painting of the loveliest flower, nothing more won- 
derful in the upheaval of the mightiest hills, than you 
may find in the formation of those myriad crystals, 
about to be cast by rude hands into the seven-fold 
heated furnace. 

When the fields were first cleared these ores, 
scattered in boulders over the surface, or not deeply 
buried, wei'e easily accessible, and iron works sprang 
up everywhere: not the costly and massive structures 
you now see, but forges, scarcely more in appearance 
than expanded blacksmith shops; although they 
made iron that was iron. It was this slightness of 
structure and consequent change of location as often 
as convenience required, that renders it impossible 
for me to tell you precisely where the forge and iron- 
master's dwelling of my story stood: but you will 
observe that it could not have been far from the 
Bash-Bish gorge; perhaps — who knows? — on the 
very site of the present Copake furnace. 

Doubtless you think this a queer, matter-of-fact 
introduction to a love-story. But this will not be 
much of a story, after all. You must recollect that 
it might have been a field-meeting report. And, 
moreover, the love-stories in this volume are, none 
of them, mere things of fancy; but the genuine 
growth of this Berkshire soil — or, at the least, 
fixtures attached to the reality. 

And there is poetry in the iron-master's trade, 
Listen to but one verse of a spirited song put into 
his month by J. E. Dow: 



THE SWISS LOVERS. 226 

•* I delve in the mountain's dark recess. 
And build my fires in tlie wilderness ; 
The red rock crumbles beneath my blast, 
While the tall trees tremble and stand aghast. 
At midnight's hour my furnace glows. 
And the liquid ore in red streams flows. 
Till the mountain's heart is melted down, 
And seared by fire is its sylvan crown." 

Yes, the monotony of woodland excursions by day 
is grandly relieved by a visit to an iron furnace by 
night. And the ladies should know that the light 
from the glowing metal is a great intensifier of some 
kinds of beauty. 

And now to my story. 

It must be more than a hundred years since there 
lived near the base of the Bernese Jura, two men 
quite opposite in character, and — as one of them, 
at least, conceived — of somewhat different ranks 
in life. Peter Goubermann earned a moderate liveli- 
hood in a narrow recess of the mountain, which, 
besides the necessary room for his forge and dwell- 
ing, had barely space for a modest, garden, and 
pasturage for a single cow. It was a laborious and 
humble, life he led; but he had little ambition to 
exchange it for one of more wealth and ease; and 
none at all to rise in the social scale above the 
station which his fathers had occupied before him 
for he knew not how many generations. Content 
that he was secure in the reasonable comforts of his 
home, and that it was safe from the terrors of the 
avalanche — whose crash sometimes roused him from 
his peaceful slumbers to utter a thankful prayer and 



226 TAGHCOKIC. 

fall quietly asleep again — almost bis sole pride was 
in bis forge, wbose ii-on was unrivalled in tbe Berne 
market, and bis garden wbicb, for its rods, bad not 
an equal in tbe canton. 

But, if be exulted in tbese, bis ebief pride was 
his pretty daughter, Annette; not bis pride alone, 
but tbe pride of tbe wbole neighborhood; its pride 
and flower, by tbe consenting voice of all, except 
an envious few. And the envy must have been 
base indeed, which could sour those whom it pos- 
sessed against one so unspoiled by flattery as An- 
nette Goubermann — tbe gentlest, kindliest and 
most unassuming, as well as the most beautiful, of 
Bernese maidens: as all accounts agree. 

The moral antipodes of that Swiss Valley-Forge 
was only a mile and a half distant from it, where 
the possessions of Anton Von Stacbel, the great 
landed proprietor of that region began. The rich 
man had commenced life with Peter Goubermann; 
and as plain Anton Stacbel, the poorer of tbe two. 
But be was of that class against whom tbe prophet 
Isaiah pronounced the curse: 

•* Woe unto them that join house to house, 
That lay field to field, till there be no place. 
That ther may be placed alone in the earth." 

And be succeeded so well that it seemed as though 
he would finally leave no place in bis mountain mi- 
crocosm for any neighbor. Tbe superstitious peo- 
ple said he had discovered tbe philosopher's stone, 
or possessed some talisman of that sort : and so he 
had; but it was only his own stony heart, that grew 



THE SWISS LOVERS. 227 

harder and harder every prosperous year. There 
are many people who prosper under the same poten- 
tial charm; bnt wise old Isaiah knew what he was 
prophecy ing: it is but a bitter woe to them all 
at last. 

As the rich man grew in wealth, he increased algo 
in vanity, and either discovered, or pretended to 
discover, some far-away connection with a gentle 
German family; whereupon, assuming gentility to 
himself, he jei'ked an aristocratic syllable into his 
j)lebeian name, and became Anton Von Stachel. 
That is, he so called himself; and all the neighbors, 
who held him in awe, so addressed him, although the 
high and mighty council of the canton contemptu- 
ously persisted in enrolling him simply as " Stachel, 
yeoman." And he almost bit his tongue through 
with vexation when he was compelled to answer to 
the -humble patronymic of which his honest father 
had been proud. 

In republican Switzerland, the legitimate dis- 
tinctions of social I'ank are not very marked; but, as 
in republican America, the craving for them, such 
as they are, often half crazes the unfortunates upon 
whose vanity it takes hold; and poor, rich, Stuchel — 
now with, and now without, the " Von " — was a very 
sad case of this mental malady. His social ambi- 
tion possessed his soul almost equally with his 
avidity to add field to field in what he called his 
"domain." Indeed the two seemed only different 
developments of the same consuming passion. 

The gossips said, in whispers among themselves — 



228 TAGHCONIC. 

that he had worried his poor wife to death by his 
attempts to make her conform lo his notions of 
gentility, assume superiority over the friends of her 
youth, and even half disown her own family rela- 
tions. It is certain that, what with his vanity, his 
tyranny and his absurdity, he led her a most un- 
happy life, in a vain attempt to conquer her aver- 
sion to falsehood and pretence, and check her 
generous charities. It is certain moreover that, 
with all due submission in things reasonable, she 
made a brave, honest, and womanly resistance to 
wrong and folly, while she could. And then she 
died. 

Whether the gossips were right as to the cause of 
her death, I shall not at this distance of time pretend 
to say; but in their mysterious female Vehme- 
Gericht — that shadowy tribunal which prevails in 
all lands, and holding its secret sessions undetected 
in the midst of crowds, deals doom to high and low, 
as insidiously and irresistibly as the viewless angel 
of the plague — in this grewsome conclave, the 
gossips continued to mutter judgments. And none 
among them was more positive . than this; that 
Madame Stachel had left a son who had a deal of 
the mother in him — or, as the more emphatic put 
it, " was all mother " — and that he would one day 
worry the life out of the old man, unless he fore- 
stalled him in that pleasing pi-ocess. 

As the boy, Hermann, grew up to be a fine, bold, 
generous-hearted young man, it began to look as 
though the doom pronounced by the feminine 



THE SWISS LOVERS. 229 

Vehme-Gericht against the house of Stachel, would 
befall it. The whole neighborhood rang with stories 
of the wrangles between the father and the son; al- 
though even the old man's most cringing adherents 
were compelled to admit, when pressed to the wall, 
that Hermann was disobedient only to his most 
odious commands. 

Of course in due time, the young man lost his 
heart to the Pride of the Valley. There was nothing 
strange in that; all the youth of the canton suffered 
in the same way. The peculiarity of this case was 
that the honest Annette, rather than Hermann should 
be robbed, gave her own in exchange. 

There was a little halcyoi\ period of courtship; 
but when the betrothal was fully determined upon, 
neither Father Goubermann nor the young people, 
were of the mind to make a clandestine affair of it. 
That was not in their truthful natures. Perhaps, 
too, they did not anticipate the stubborn and violent 
opposition with which the elder Stachel received the 
announcement of his son's intentions. To be sure, 
the iron-master was not rich, and not even the prefix 
of, " Von," could make the name of Goubermann 
sound otherAvise than peasant-like; but then he could 
afford his daughter a decent dower; and, as for his 
name, there was not one in all Switzerland which 
stood higher for the integrity and sterling worth of 
its owner. And, then, everybody knew that An. 
nette might have gone to the best mansion, or one 
of the best, in the city of Berne, as the bride of the 

wealthiest young burgher there; and what was more, 
20 



230 TAGHCONIC. 

a right -n'orthy fellow. But the Valley-Forge match 
would have thwarted one of the fondest schemes of 
Stachel's ambition, and he set his face against it as 
flintily as though it had been his heart. 

I need not tell in detail the story of the long 
months of waiting and hoping, loving and hating, 
threateniugs and defiances. Suflice it, that Father 
Goubermann would not hear of any marriage with- 
out the consent of Father Stachel, at least until 
further effort was made to obtain it; nor would he 
listeji to Hermann's plan of learning the iron-maker's 
art, in order that he might make himself inde- 
pendent. 

Six or eight months had passed in this manner 
when, in an interval of comparative peace — doubt- 
less cunningly prepared — his father commissioned 
Hermann to attend to some affair in connection with 
his mother's family in a remote section of the con- 
federacy; and, after a tender parting with his be- 
trothed, he set out on his errand without suspicion 
of treachery. But he had scarcely crossed the borders 
of the canton when the stoi'm which had long 
been brewing burst upon the household he loved so 
well. 

In his life-long course of evil-dealing, Stachel had 
necessarily secured legal tools, as reckless of right 
and mercy as himself; and now, having determined 
to break off his son's marriage at any cost, he put 
the business into the hands of one Beza, a weasel- 
faced lawyer of Berne. Even the ferret-eyes of the 
attorney, squinny them as he would, could discover 



THE SWISS LOVERS. 231 

nothing in tlie conduct of Annette upon which the 
most harpy-like slander could fasten ; and that resort 
was speedily given over. Nothing remained but, 
by some device, to bring the iron master into the 
power of the oppressor; and the unimpeachable in- 
tegrity of the man forbade all hope of effecting this 
by criminal accusation, or by enticement into any 
rash act. Thus far, the righteousness of the threatened 
household was a wall of defence round about them. 

But, almost mad with the ill success of his wicked 
schemes ^- which did not even come to the knowl- 
edge of those against whom they were plotted — 
Stachel spurred on his agent with new promise of 
reward: and not in vain. Beza discovered, or forged, 
some flaw in the Goubermann title to the iron-works 
and the land attached to them; and his employer 
hastened to purchase the rights of the person in 
whom the property would vest, if the flaw should 
prove fatal: and no efforts were spared to make it 
BO. Before Hermann departed on his journey, the 
new claim had become so well fortified, although no 
hint of it had spread beyond the circle of the con- 
spirators, that it seemed impregnable; and, as soon as 
the young man was well out of the way, the masked 
battery was uncovered. 

The revelation came upon Father Goubermann like 
a thunder-bolt from a clear sky. That he rightfully 
and legally owned the property of which he had so 
long held undisputed possession, he had no more 
doubt than he had of his own existence: and that 
any man should attempt to deprive him of it, seemed 



232 TAGHCONIC. 

to his simple and honest nature, too monstrous for 
belief. But there lay, staring him in the face, a 
formal — a very legally formal — demand that he 
should, not only surrender it, but also account for 
long arrears of rents — making an astounding sum 
total. And the claimant was Anton Von Stachel, who, 
more than once, had found means to wring from an 
unwilling tribunal, a decision which, though legally 
correct, the judges knew to be essentially unjust: a 
man of many well concocted appliaiices in resisting 
the right, was Von Stachel. 

That night, it needed no thunder of the avalanche 
to rouse Goubermann from his slumbers : it found him, 
for the first time, restless on his bed at midnight. 
No sleep came to him; and, with the earliest dawn, he 
started for the city, to consult an honest lawyer — his 
long-time friend. He found small consolation there. 
Herr Zwingli had no doubt that Stachel's claim was 
fabricated and fraudulent; but to resist it would in- 
volve a ruinous and doubtful law-suit. Nevertheless, 
he advised resistance, as affording some small hope, 
and at any rate postponing for awhile the ejectment 
of the Goubermann family from their home. The ruin 
of resistance could be no more complete than the 
ruin of submission. 

Stachel, who had anticipated this legal consulta- 
tion and its results, met his victim as he Avas return- 
ing home, laden with this woeful counsel. He had 
waited for this before seeking an interview; and now, 
conscious that the hypocrisy of any attempt to give 
his purpose a friendly coloring would be instantly 



THE SWISS LOVERS. 233 

detected, he came bluntly to his proposition, which 
was substantially this : that the Goubermann family 
should leave Switzerland at once, to remain for a 
given number of years; that they should leave no 
trace of their course, nor ever in any manner, com- 
municate, so that it could reach Switzerland, the 
place of their retreat. On these conditions, Stachel 
offered to pay the iron master such a sum as would 
enable him, in England or elsewhere, to establish 
himself in a better position than he left, and con- 
senting, moreover, that he might take with him 
such personal property as would not betray his 
course. 

Goubermann listened to these cruel terms silently, 
and as if in a dream; but they were stamped upon 
his memory as if branded with a hot iron; and, no 
less, the savage warning, uttered by his enemy as 
they parted, of the probable consequences to his 
invalid wife of a rejection of this his offer. 

There was another sleepless night at Valley- 
Forge — a night of agony and prayer, in which the 
daughter shared, but not the mother, who slept uncon- 
scious of the impending evil. In bitterness of soul 
the father wrestled with his own spirit, and sought 
counsel of his God. What thoughts possessed the 
young girl, conscious that her innocent but unhappy 
love had brought about all this misery, I leave you 
to imagine; what rebellious thoughts to be ci'ushed 
back, what j^outhful longings to be repressed, what 
pitying compassion for her lost lover; before the 
victory was won. I do not say that Annette's 



234 TAGHCONIC. 

dream of happiness and Hermann was altogether 
dissipated by her silent vow; but she said quietly to 
herself, " If it pleases the good God, it will all come 
to pass yet; as for me I will perform this present 
duty which He imposes upon me, without murmur- 
ing." And then with a saintly smile, she said : 

" Father, we will go." 

The father half smiled, half sighed, his blessing 
and his assent. 

« When Hermann returned from his journey, he 
could learn little more from the sorrowing people of 
the neighborhood than the deserted cottage had al- 
ready told him. The Goubermann family had been 
missed from their home, one morning, a week pre- 
vious. They bad departed without farewell or expla- 
nation; which was strange in such honest and kindly 
folk, and only to be accounted for as the result of 
something connected with Stachel's claim upon their 
property, which Lawyer Zwingli made public with a 
free expression of his opinions as to its rascality. It 
needed but an incautious word, dropped by his father 
in the heat of passion, to enable Hermann to divine 
all the rest. 

In looking for the success of his plot the father 
had counted too little upon the depth and constancy 
of his son's affection for the noble peasant girl, and 
altogether failed to comprehend the strength and 
faithfulness of his whole nature, as well as his quick- 
ness of perception. His own experience in hearts 
led him to believe confidently that, the object of 
Hermann's youthful fancy, once sent away, would 



THB SWISS LOVEES. 235 

soon be forgotten, and the young man ready to re- 
ceive the impression of new charms. It was not the 
only mistake he made. In sending Hermann on that 
trumped-up errand, he was the unwitting means of 
his obtaining a considerable sum of money in hand, 
and a large bequest afterwards, from a maternal 
nncle who regarded him with affection for both his 
moral and personal likeness to his mother. Hermann 
now found this gift much to his purpose: and thus a 
good Providence justified the faith of the pious and 
submissive maiden, and made the device of the 
wicked help to the very end it was intended to 
prevent. 

It was but a day after his return before Hermann 
disajjpeared as secretly as the iron-master and his 
family had departed. But the smiling and smirking 
gossips made no ado in guessing upon what mission 
he had gone. Nobody feared that he had plunged 
rashly into the lake, or laid himself down in the 
path of a glacier — as unhappy people, now-a-days, 
do before a rail-road train. 

Probably Stachel had counted as much upon his 
son's inability to follow the exiles, as upon his 
measures to conceal their route and hiding-place; but 
the uncle's gift — which the young man did not deem 
it needful to boast of — was an obstacle to that ele- 
ment in the plot. 

In the region of passports and police with which 
Switzerland is surrounded, there is no great difficulty 
for one disposed to use money with moderate — not 
to say lover-like — liberality, in tracing any body 



236 TAGfHOONlO. 

whom the government is not disposed to hide. Still 
it took the inexperienced youth some little time to 
ascertain that the objects of his pui'suit had passed 
through France on their way to Great Britain. A 
wearisome and heart-sickening search there ended, 
by mere chance, in the discovery that — Father 
Goubermann not taking kindly to the ways of his 
rude English fello w -craftsmen — the family had 
sailed for America, No one could tell him for what 
port they embarked; but, by good luck, the first ship 
up was bound for New York; and, impatient of 
delay, he took passage. 

At New York, he was bewildered by the report 
that little iron- works, like those I have described, and 
similar to the well remembered forge in the Jura — 
were springing up everywhere in the wild woods of 
Pennsylvania, New York, New Jersey, Massachu- 
setts and other provinces. It was a discouraging 
out-look; and, with a heavy though determined 
heart, he resumed his loving pilgrimage, resolved" 
that it should end only with success or death. 

But now, fortune — which, in storm and sunshine, 
with his consciousness, or without it, had still been 
urging him towards the haven where he would be — 
again came visibly to his aid. As the sloop in which 
he had taken passage lay becalmed on the Hudson, 
a barge, heavily laden with iron from above, dropped 
alongside; and the skipper, questioned as to the 
source of his cargo, shouted : " From Mount Rhighi ! " 

Hermann was startled almost into crving out: but 
the barge floated out of hailing distance, and he was 



THK SWISS LOVERS. 23"? 

only ahle to gather from the sloop's people that she 
was from Kinderhook, and that Mount Rhighi must 
be somewhere in the same vicinity. 

Had he known the remarkable way New York 
people had of appropriating foreign names, he would 
have understood that the clew was of the faintestf 
but, for once, ignorance helped him to a correct con- 
clusion. The idea that this Swiss name would lead 
him to a colony of his countrymen, and finally to 
those he sought, seized upon him so forcibly that he 
sprang on shore at Kinderhook with a lighter step 
and heart than he had known for months. 

The village was not large, and he easily found 
Peter Van Schaack, the merchant who had shipped 
the iron; a warm-hearted gentleman who listened 
with sympathy to the broken English of the young 
Switzer's story, and overwhelmed him with joy by 
expressing his belief that a certain foreign family 
who had, a few months before, passed through 
town to Mount Rhighi, were none other than his 
friends. Mr. Van Schaack pressed him to accept his 
hospiitality for a day or two, until he could have 
conveyance to the iron-works; but he would not 
have been the true lover he was, had he not set out 
at once, and — since that was necessary — on foot, 
to make his way through the wilderness. 

On the second afternoon after this interview, An- 
nette Goubermann was standing thoughtfully upon 
the brow of Sunset Cliff in the Bash-Bish gorge. 
Whether she had come down the mountain to enjoy 
the sunny outlook, or had gone up the glen to revive 



288 TAGHCONIC. 

her Alpine memories, will be determined when some 
field-meeting or other shall fix upon the locality of 
the Goubermann forge. But, there, on Sunset 
Cliff, she certainly stood, looking dreamily towards 
the Catskills, and doubtless meditating such things 
as befit such a maiden at such an hour and on such 
a spot; when she suddenly uttered a piercing cry, 
and fell, senseless, to the ground. 

In an instant her lover was by her side, and, by 
the aid of the appliances immemorial in such cases, 
she was soon restored to consciousness; although it 
was a long while before Hermann was sufticiently 
sure of her full recovery to suspend the use of his 
restoratives; and, even after that, imminent danger 
of a relapse seemed frequently to recur. I count it 
selfish on their part — unless Annette's health posi- 
tively compelled it ; which, Hermann admitted, 
her complexion did not indicate — for the pair to 
keep Father Goubermann and his good wife so long 
from sharing their felicity; but the evening shades 
had sent him in search of his daughter before they 
thought of leaving their meeting place. The rock 
which was their seat that evening, and many a 
happy ho\ir thereafter, is still there on Sunset Cliff. 
The antiquarian may still detect it by the fact that 
it is just long enough for two, and, unless time has 
effaced it, by the inscription, Hermann Stein. If 
it has become obscure with age, some " Old Morta- 
lity " should restore it. 

I need not paint for you the joyous meeting with 
the father and motlier, nor the mutual explanations 



THE SWISS LOVERS. 239 

which preceded the speedy nuptials of Hermann 
and Annette. But I trust you will be glad to learn 
that the whole family lived with delightful harmony 
in their new home, that Hermann became a very 
skillful and renowned iron-master; but took with 
him father and mother, as well as his beautiful wife 
and children, when he was called back to Berne, 
to enjoy the property which became his by the 
death of his father; including the old forge whose 
fires were now relighted, not from necessity, but out 
of love for the noble art. 

Stachel fully intended to bequeath his whole es- 
tate to some hospital or other public institution; 
but, like all prosperous and self-important men, he 
conceived that life would be long with him, and de- 
layed his preparation for death until it came upon 
him fearfully and suddenly: for he never recovered 
from an apoplexy with which he was struck upon 
learning that the supreme court of the canton had 
adjudged a poor wretch, whom he thought in his 
clutches beyond rescue, not bound to Anton Stachel 
yeoman, by an obligation given to " Anton Von 
Stachel, gentleman." Rank and name had real 
meaning in those days. Lawyer Zwingli, who made 
the point, had come so utterly to hate the old usurer 
that he smiled, with grim satisfaction, when he 
heard the fatal result of its success; but the gentle 
Annette wept that her enemy was cut off in the 
midst of his sins. 

Such is one story of the Swiss occupation of 



240 TAGHCONIC. 

Mount Washington and the Alpine gorge of Bash- 
Bish. 

The Dome op the Taghconics. 

While we are in this romantic mountain corner it 
would be the most unpardonable lese-majesty, not to 
pay our homage to the kingly Dome of the Tagh- 
conics. And yet — I confess it with shame — never 
having been presented at that court myself, I am 
disqualified for inti'oducing you, and must request 
Mr. Headley to act as usher, with that golden rod, 
his eloquent pen: 

"Two or three miles from Basli-Bish, is the Dome of 
the Taghconics, a lofty mountain rising, precisely like a 
dome, from the ridge of whicli it forma a part. It is in our 
estimation, far superior to the Catskill, for you have from a 
single spot, a perfect panorama below you ; you have only to 
turn on your heel, and east and west, north and south, an 
almost endless prospect spreads away on the vision. You are 
the center of a circle at least three hundred and fifty miles in 
circumference ; and such a circle ! The mountains that stretch" 
along the horizon between the Connecticut and the Hoosac 
river on the north-east, fade away as the northern Tajrhconics, 
the Berlin and the Canaan Mountains greet you in the north- 
west ; and these in turn are lorgolten as your eye falls on the 
dark mass cf the Catskill showing its huge proportions 
against the vveste n horizon. 

" And then, between is such a wealth of scenejy. The valley 
of the Housatonic, for miles and miles, spreads all its loveli- 
ness before you. There, too, are tlie two settlements of Canaan, 
and, further up — a mere spot on the landscape — Sheffield; 
and, still farther up. Great Barrington, hardly visible amid its 
forest of old elms, while the white cliflTs of Monument Moun- 



THE DOME. 241 

tain shut out old Stockbrido^e from view, and the distant spire 
of Lenox church closes the long train of villages. 

" Old Saddle-Back of Willianistown (the Greylock Range 
in Adams, North Adams and Williamstown) stands up to its 
full height against the misty mountains that repose further 
off in the horizon — a peculiar feature of the landscape. Egre- 
mout stands alone in the valley of the Green River, but its 
sloping land and swelling hills present a still lovelier variety. 
A low line of mist is dimly seen stretching along the black 
base of the Catskills, so indistinct that you would scarcely 
observe it ; and yet that is the lordly Hudson, heaving its 
mighty tide seaward, laden with the commerce of a nation. 
A mere pencil mark in the landscape, here, it gives no token 
of the liaste and busy lifo on its surface. Close under the 
foot of the mountain on the south, sleep the sweet lakes of 
Salisbury, while other lakes dot the horizon in every direction. 

" But I cannot tell you of the prodigality of beauty which 
meets the eye at every turn. You seem to look on the outer 
wall of creation, and this old dome seems to be the spot on 
which nature set her great compasses when she drew the 
circle of the heavens. A more beautiful horizon, I have never 
seen than sweeps around you from this spot. The charm of 
the view is perfect on every side — a panorama, which becomes 
a moving one, if you will but take the trouble to turn round." 

31 



XVIII. 
GREYLOCIC 

Qrejiock, cloud-girdled, from his mountain throne, 

A voice of welcome sends ; 
And, from {jreen summer fields, a warbling tone. 

The Housatouic bleuds. — Frances Ann EemUA, 

Spirit of Beauty 1 Let thy graces blend 

With loveliest nature all that art can lend. 

********* 

Come from the steeps where look majestic forth 

From their twin thrones, the giants of the north 

On the hug^e shapes that, crouching at their knees. 

Stretch their broad shoulders, rough with shaggy trees. 

Through the wide waste of ether, not in vain, 

Their softened gaze shall reach our distant plain ; 

There, while the mourner turns his aching eyes 

On the blue mounds that print the bluer skies. 

Nature shall whisper that the fading view 

Of mightiest grief may wear a heavenly hue. — 0. W. Holmes. 



Greylock is the figure-head of the county of Berk- 
shire. I might say that it is the figure-head of the 
Commonwealth of Massachusetts, if some Boston 
critic wouUl not cry out that the hill-folk are 
trying to run the ship of state stern foremost. But 
tlu' figure-head of the county, it plainly is; aiui a 



GBEYLOCK. 248 

noble one. What a grand terminal it affords for 
the mountain bulwarks that so grandly sweep up to 
it on either side the symmetrical valley. How 
proudly it lifts itself against the northern sky; the 
crested front of the miglity landscape ! 

We see it from a myriad points of view, varying 
its aspect with the different stand-points of the 
spectator, and with the perpetual changes of the 
atmosphere; although the general directness of the 
perspective from the south renders the apparent al- 
terations in its contour, from change in the line of 
vision, to be much less frequent than with most of 
our mountain shapes. 

The isolated mountain range between the Hoosacs 
and the Taconics, now generally known as the 
Greylock Range, is not so much a chain as an inter- 
twisted cluster of mountains in the towns of Adams, 
North Adams and Williamstown; from which a spur 
strikes southward through New Ashford, Cheshire 
and Lanesboro', to Pittsfield. The main cluster has 
a length, from east to west, of about six miles, and 
an average altitude of perhaps twenty-four hundred 
feet above the surrounding valley. It consists of 
six or seven distinct peaks and ridges rising above 
a common base. The highest peak — the Greylock, 
from which the cluster takes its name — is upon the 
east, and has an elevation of thirty-five hundred feet 
above the sea level, or twenty-six hundred above the 
valley of the Hoosac, at its base on the north and east. 

The twin peak on the west, less in height than 
Greylock by three or four hundred feet, commands 



244 TAGHCONIC. 

no view, being covered by woods and having its 
nearer outlook cut off by surrounding summits. Nor 
has it any generally recognized name. But it is 
more conspicuous from the south than its taller 
brother, and, being of a graceful contour, will make 
a capital monument, if nothing else; and, for one, I 
heartily approve the proposition to christen it " Sy- 
mond's Peak " in honor of the grand old Williams- 
town Colonel who led the " embattled farmers " of 
Berkshire in their glorious fight at Bennington. 

The combination of these peaks in the view from 
the south, bears a rude, but rather striking, resem- 
blance to a saddle, which suggested to the early 
settlers the name of Saddle-back Mountain by which 
the cluster was long called; but the comparison was 
prosaic ; and, besides, a similar likeness had caused 
the same name to be given to mountain ridges in 
more than one locality. A finer imagination early 
seized upon the likeness to the grey locks of an old 
man, which the top of the highest peak presents 
when whitened by the snows or frosts of the late 
fall or early spi'ing, while the body of the hill is 
clothed in dark forests; and that summit became 
Greylock: one of the most poetic names which ever 
added grace to the loveliness of nature. 

The rudeness and lack of distinctive meaning of 
the name " Saddle-back," as applied to the cluster, 
have caused it to be gi^dually disused, and the pret- 
tier designation has been extended to the whole group, 
with the addition of "group," " range or "mountain;" 
so that the name *' Saddle-back " is rarely heard- 



GREYLOCK. 24 6 

except from lips which say " his'n " and " hern " for 
" his " and " hers." But you will observe that there 
is a diifereuce between " Greylock " and " Greylock 
Mountain " or " The Greylock Group." 

You recollect Grace — the wild and witty Berk- 
shire girl, we met one day down by the borders of 
Pontoosuc Lake. Well, a while ago, a geologist 
deeply enamored of her and Berkshire rooks, after 
showing her a wonderful piece of contorted strata 
by the road-side near the lake, was explaining that 
it was really the most marvellous specimen he had 
ever met: when the saucy thing threw him com- 
pletely off his balance by exclaiming, with eyes dis- 
tended in mock astonishment: " What a twistiiication! 
Isn't it nice, thoirgh ? It looks just like half-worked 
molasses candy. Did you ever help pull candy, 
professor ? Its awful jolly ! " 

*' Awful " and " jolly," I ought to explain, are 
words which Grace reserves for the sole purpose of 
extinguishing over-exquisite admirers; but I have no 
doubt that, if I were to set her to explaining the 
queer interlacings of the Greylock ridges, she would 
dash me with something like this: "What a twisti- 
fication ! Its just like one of cook's dough-nuts 
Arn't there some in the lunch basket ? Let's have 
them out ! " Arid I feel very much inclined to dis- 
pose of the matter in the same way. In quiet earnest, 
the peaks and ridges, the ravines and cascades, the 
rugged notches and picturesque nooks of this, as yet 
only half-studied, mountain group, are food for a 
season, rather than a tit-bit for a hasty excursion. 



246 TAGHCONia 

They seem moreover to belong to the peculiar do- 
main of the Williams College people, and the summer 
denizens of Gi'eylock Hall; to whom I commend 
them, although it sounds very like a stranger com- 
mending to a man, the charms of his own wife. 
Such counsel is not always superfluous. 

The rest of you, nevertheless, must come with 
me through the more noted and striking scenes 
whose beauty boldly challenges us on the peaks, or 
lies hid in the recesses, of this loftiest and most pic- 
turesque mountain of Massachusetts. 

One who has not climbed to the top of Greylock 
has taken no very high degree as a Berkshire ex- 
cursionist; and, to be initiated into the highest, he' 
must pass a night there. If you are an invalid, or 
have any other very valid reason for it, I will, how- 
ever, help you to take your degrees by proxy: 
although, for the more convenient connection with 
what is to follow, I must give the story of my two 

ascents of the great mountain in reversed order. 

• 
Night and Moening on Greylock. 

It was a laughing, sparkling, comj)anionable, well- 
assorted party that, passably well supplied with 
brains, and thoroughly well versed in the matter- 
in-hand, met one evening in the most deliciously 
comfortable of parlors, to organize — as the sum- 
mons of our queenly chief put it — for a new crown- 
ing of Old King Greylock. There is much good in 
these preparatory meetings. In the first place a 
successful excursion must be organized by some- 



NIGHT AND MORNING ON GRETLOuK. 247 

body. However you may t umble into ii at hap-hazaf d, 
somebody has planned and prepared for it. The 
victories which nobody organizes are no more to 
be counted upon, in any undertaking, than the for- 
tunes that fall to lucky people from forgotten Calif or- 
nian uncles. And, least of all, can you trust to chance 
for the successful issue of a day and night moun- 
tain excursion, where a single fault in the commisa- 
riat or the quarter-master's department may cause 
infinite disaster. To be sure, some considerate or 
generous persons generally provide all things ne- 
cessary; but it is every way better to do it in merry 
committee of the whole. 

If there were no other reward for this equitable 
course, it is enough that it doubles your pleasure; 
which you take in two installments; the first being 
in hand, and sure: to whatever fate, foul weather or 
other misfortune may bring the second. And, by 
and bye, when both come to be alike far-off me- 
mories, you may doubt which was the richer, and 
more real. And then, again, in this cosy and infor- 
mal preliminary gathering, you assimilate your party; 
which — particularly if there happen to be new 
elements in it — is very desirable. It saves much 
delay and awkwardness on the morrow. Nobody is 
distrait, as strangers are apt to be, when you meet 
for the start; and sometimes very pleasant unex- 
pected pairing results — permanent or otherwise. 

Our council in preparation for Grey lock had n» 
perplexing subject of debate. A railway ride 
to Adams, where carriages to the mountain-top had 



248 TAGnCONIC. 

been engaged, disposed of the matter of transporta- 
tion. Apparatus for open-air cooking, we always 
had ready; and sui:)plies of cold meats, boiled eggs, 
sandwiches, fruit-s and all manner of pic-nic fare 
were reported in quantities that only mountainous 
appetites could expect to do away with. It only 
remained to provide for protection against the night 
dews, and the mists of the mountain top; and that 
was soon carefully arranged. In view of the pro- 
spective fatigues of the morrow, only a very small 
allowance of dancing was allowed; and then, to 
help our anticipations and dreams, Henry Thoreau's 
graphic account of his night and morning on Grey- 
lock Avas read. It is an episode in his charming 
" Week on the Concord and Merrimac," from which 
I shall presently quote a paragraph; but you should 
read the story in full, with the characteristic moral 
and philosophical observations of the great Secular 
Solitary. 

His conveyance and commisariat were even simpler 
than ours, and much more self-reliant. " I had 
come over the hills on foot," he writes, " on foot 
and alone in serene summer days, plucking the rasp- 
berries by the wayside, and occasionally buying a 
loaf of bread at a farmer's house; with a knapsack 
on my back which held a few ti'aveller's books and 
a change of clothing, and a staff in my hand. * * * 
Reaching the mountain top, I had one fair view of 
•the country before the sun AA'ent down ; but I was 
too thirsty to waste any light in viewing the prospect, 
and set out directly to iind water. First, going 



NIGHT AND MORN^ING ON GRETLOCK. 249 

down a well-beaten path through a scrubby wood, 
I came to where the water stood in the tracks of the 
horses which had carried travellers up. I lay down 
flat and drank these dry, one after another — a pure, 
cold, spring-like water; but yet I could not fill my 
dipper, although I contrived little syphons of grass- 
stems, and ingenious aqueducts on a small scale; it 
was too slow a process. Then, remembering that 
I had passed a moist spot near the top, I returned 
to find it again; and here, with sharp stones and my 
hands, in the twilight, I made a well about two feet 
deep, which soon filled with pure water; and the 
birds, too, came and drank at it. So I filled my 
dipper, and making my way back to the observatory, 
collected some dry sticks, and made a fire on some 
flat stones which had been placed on the floor for 
that purpose; and so I soon cooked my supper of 
the rice I had bought at North Adams, having 
already whittled a wooden spoon to eat it with." 
With Mr. Thoreau's resources one could afford an 
extended tour. 

Mr. Thoreau ascended the mountain, from North 
Adams through " The Notch," a savage cleft be- 
tween Greylock peak and a lower hill upon the east. 
Through this rugged pass, dashes a crystal brook, 
which supplies to the village waterworks, an abun- 
dance of pure water; and also, with its foaming 
cascade and other brookly beauties, affords an at- 
tractive as well as accessible resort for citizens and 
strangers. At its southern end, where the narrow- 
ing notch " slopes up to the skies," it is called "The 



260 TAGHCONIC. 

Bellows-pipe." In our wild northern storms, the 
fierce winds bellow through it in thousand-fold con- 
centrated fury. 

Our ascent, from Adams, was much more prosaic. 
We sacrificed a little romance, for the sake of a 
good deal of ease: still we we were often tempted 
from our comfortable conveyances into groves, glades 
and recesses among the rocks by the road-side. There 
was no need of haste. Even after a socially pro- 
longed dinner, enjoyed in full view of a magnificent, 
but comparatively narrow, landscape, we had ample 
time to ascend the observatory and enjoy the stu- 
pendous scenery which presented itself in every 
direction. 

We were in rare good fortune. The atmosphere 
was exceptionally pure, rendering the view as clear 
and distinct as one of such vast proportions ever can 
be. Approximately to measure that vastness in 
your mind, consider that the diameter — not the 
circumference — of the horizon revealed to you, is 
some three hundred miles. Away in eastern Wor- 
cester, you see Mount Wachusett; the Grand JVlonad- 
nock in south-western New Hampshire; 'the lofty 
peaks of the northernmost Taconics in Vermont; 
the Adirondacs of New York in the noi-th-west, and 
the Catskills in south-west. In the south, the far-a- 
way hills of Connecticut melt dimly into the Sound- 
ward slope. From Mount Tekoa, Moimt Tom, and 
Mount Holyoke in the Connecticut valley, successive 
ridges rise continually, to the Columbian Moun- 
tains of New York; pile after pile in most admired 



NIGHT AND MOKNING ON GREYLOCK. 251 

disorder, for a breadth of more than sixty miles: 
longitudinally, some seventy miles southward; and 
northerly as far as the eye can reach. 

Mr. Gladden, quotes President Hitchoock as say- 
ing: " I know of no place where the mind is so 
forcibly impressed by the idea of vastness, of even 
of immensity, as where the eye ranges abroad from 
this eminence: " and it is not for us, in the imme- 
diate presence of this majestic over-view, to look for 
a rival to it in Alps or Sierra, 

The nearer and gentler, but still bold and com- 
manding, view is close upon the south, where the 
great Berkshire valley lies spread out before us: in 
its centre the streets and spires of Pittsfield, with 
their fair cordon of glassy lakes glittering around 
them, and, on every side, half-hidden villages and 
village churches gleaming white upon tlie verdant 
back-ground of woods and fields; conspicuous among 
them the fine old meeting-houses of Lenox and 
Dalton — while, most distinct of all, almost under our 
feet, and so close to the mountain's base as to seem 
a very part of it, lies the thriving, busy and hand- 
some town of Adams. A scene, take it all in all, to 
be tenderly yearned over by the children of thai 
glorious valley, and to be lovingly admired by th« 
merest chance-comer to the hill-top. 

While we lingered dreamily over it, the sun went 
doAvn, leaving on that transparent sky, no such cloud- 
shapes of fantastic gorgeousness as often veil his 
parting; but, along the whole western horizon, one. 
broad, uniform band of glowing light — softening, 



252 TAGHCONIC. 

from richest orauge through all golden tints, until it 
melted from liquid amber into crystal chrysoprase, 
and then was lost in the prevailing azure. 

The gold paled from the western heavens: and 
then the grey was absorbed in the blue. The evening 
shades filled the valley; crept up the mountain side; 
enveloped grove and tower, and the little group who 
silently awaited their coming. 

" Darkness upon the mountain and the vale ; 
The woods, the lakes, the fields are buried deep 
In that still, solemn, star-watched sleep : 
No sound, no inotioa. and o'er hill and dale, 
' A calm and lovely death seems to embrace 
Earth's fairest realms and heaven's unfathomed space. 

The forest slumbers; leaf and branch and bough. 
High feathery crest, and lowliest grassy blade. 
All restless, wandering wings are folded uow. 
That swept the sky, and in the sunshine played. 
The lake's wild waves sleep in their rocky bowl : 
Unbroken stillness streams from nature's soul, 
And night's great star-sown wings stretch o'er the whole I " 

Mrs. Eeirible, 

As was fitting, even in the merriest party, we 
yielded for awhile to the solemn promptings of the 
hour; but it is not fitting, even were it possible, that 
they should long curb the glee of a mountain excur- 
sion. The voice of our chief reminded us that we 
had promised our friends at home to signal our 
presence on Greylock by a blaze which they could 
see. The appointed hour had come, and the beacon 
was lighted. Our friends were kind enough to be- 
lieve they saw it beaming like a star, or a light in a 



NIGHT AND MORNING ON GREYLOCK. 253 

distaut window. Perhaps they did. It certainly 
cast a strange, wild, red glare upon the old tower and 
the overhanging foliage; and invested the ladies, who 
gathered around it, with a weird, gypsy beauty that 
was very enchanting. 

The little grotto of light, we had wrought out in 
the great darkness, had hardly disappeared, when 
the white moon rose up the eastern sky, revealing 
new realms of sjjlendor. Little by little, the hills and 
valleys emerged from the shadow ; reposing in the 
pallor, or gleaming in the silver sheen, of the white 
radiance. There was no longer any color in the 
picture. It was drawn in crayon — all light and 
shade. Nor was there day-light's sharpness of out- 
line: the landscape lay in broad surfaces and heavy 
masses, except in the close loreground. There is 
something altogether delusive in the brilliance of 
moonlight. It dazzles, but cannot illuminate. It 
will light you gaily to your serenade; but you can- 
not read a sentence by it, at its brightest, as you 
can by a very dim twilight. You need the yellow 
rays of the spectrum for that; as you will discover 
by attempting to read in a church whose " dim re- 
ligious light " streams through etained windows, and 
then in one where the garish light of day is ren- 
dered still more garish, by being strained through 
ground glass, which eliminates most of the yellow 
from it. You will observe the same difference, 
although in a less degree, between the yellow flame 
of a kerosene lamp, and the white blaze of a gas-jet j 
22 



254 TAGHCONIC. 

the eye tiring much the quicker uuder the lattei. 
But it was not dread of spoiling our eye-sight 
which led our prudent chief to order us to our 
couches. Indeed the glamour of that illusive splen- 
dor seemed magically projected on the scene for our 
immediate enchantment and witchery. But the 
white mists which first traced, in delicate lines upon 
the dark surface, the curves of the river and the 
lurking places of the lakes, had filled the lower 
valley, until as we looked down upon it, it lay out- 
spread like a great snow-shrouded plain. And now 
tall, ghostly, phantom-like shapes upreared them- 
selves on the mountain side. We knew that their 
embrace was uncanny, if not deadly, and we fled 
before the advancing specters, screaming — with 
laughter. 

The floors of the two stories of the tower had 
already been spread with elastic boughs, of balsamy 
odor, from the near woods: ^^liaggy bear and buffalo 
robes, army blankets and rubber coverings were now 
liberally distributed. Generous draughts of hot 
coffee were dealt out. Prayers were read. Then 
stillness was enjoined upon the Avakef ul,and soon those 
not too much excited by the novelty of the scene 
slumbered peacefully. Before morning all enjoyed 
a healthful sleep, undisturbed except, once or twice, 
by a fitful cloud-rack which drifted through the open 
windows — just to remind us how near we were to 
heaven. 

Before I tell you of our awakening, I will read you 
what Mr. Thoreau says of his: 



• NIGHT AND MORNING ON GREYLOCK. 255 

" I was up early and perched upon the top of the tower to 
Bee the day break ; for some time readinpr the names that had 
been engraved there before I coukl distinguish more distant 
objects. An ' untameable fly ' buzzed at my elbow with the 
same nonchalance as on a molasses hogshead at the end of 
Long Wharf. Lven here I must attend to his stale humdrum. 
As the light increased, I discovered around me an ocean of 
mist which reached up by chance exactly to the base of the 
tower, and shut out every vestige of the earth ; while I waa 
left floating on this fragment of the wreck of a world, on my 
carved plank in cloudland : a situation which it required 
no aid from the imagination to render impressive. As the 
light in the east steadily increased, it revealed to me more 
clearly the new world into which I had risen in the night : 
the new terra firma perhaps of my future life. There was 
not a crevice left thfough which the trivial places we name 
Massachusetts, Verrai nt and New York could be seen ; while 
I still inhaled the clear atmosphere of a July morning — if it 
were July there. All around me was spread for a hundred 
miles on every side, as far as the eye could reach, an undulating 
country of clouds, answering in the varied swell of its surface 
to the terrestrial world it veiled. It was such a country as 
we might sea in dreams, with all the delights of Paradise. 
There were immense snowy pastures apparently smooth-shaven 
and firm, and shady vales between the vaporous mountains; 
and, far in the horizon, I could see where some luxurious 
misty timber jutted into the prairie, and trace the windings of 
a water course, some unimagined Amazon or Orinoko, by the 
misty trees on its brink. 

As there was wanting the symbol, so there was not the sub- 
stance, of impurity : no spot nor stain. It was a favor for 
which to be forever silent to be shown this vision. The earth 
below had become such a flitting thing of lights and shadows 
as the clouds had been before. It was not merely veiled to 
me ; it had passed away like the phantom of a shadow, crxiog 
«vag, and this new platform was gained, As I had climbed 



256 TAGHCONIC. 

above storm and cloud, so by successive day's journeys I mig^bt 
reacb the. region of eternal day ; aye, 

' Heaven itself shall slide, 
And roll away like melting stars that glide 
Along their oily tliread.' 

But when its ovu sun began to rise on this pure world, I 
found myself a dweller in tlie dazzling balls of Aurora — into 
wbicb poets bave bad but a partial glance over tbe eastern 
bills — drifting among tbe saflFron-colored clouds, and playing 
witb tbe rosy fingers of tbe Dawn, in tbe very patb of tbe 
Sun's cbariot, and sprinkled witb its dewy dust, enjoying tbe 
benignant smile, and near at band tbe far-darting glances, of 
tbe god. Tbe inbabitants of eartb bebold commonly but tbe 
dark and sbadowy under-side of beaven's pavement ; it is only 
■wben at a favorable angle of tbe borizon, morning and evening, 
tbat some faint streaks of tbe ricb lining of tbe clouds are 
revealed. But my muse would fail to convey an impressioa 
of tbe gorgeous tapestry by wbicb I was surrounded ; such 
as men see faintly reflected afar oflF in tbe cbambers of the 
east. Here, as on eartb, I saw tbe gracious god 

' Flatter the mountain tops with sovereign eye, * ♦ * 
Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchemy.' 

Never bere did ' Heaven's Sun ' stain bimself. But, alae, 
owing as I tbink to some unwortbiness in myself, my private 
sun did stain bimself, and 

Anon permit the basest clonds to ride 
With ugly wrack on his celestial face; 

lor before tbe god bad readied bis zenitb, tbe heavenly pave- 
ment rose and embraced my wavering virtue, or rather I sank 
down again into tbat ' forlorn world ' from which the celestial 
Bun had hid his visage." 

Mr. Thoreau, descending the mountain, soon found 
himself in the region of clouds and drizzling rain; 
and the inhabitants affirmed that it had been a rainy 
and drizzling day wholly. 



NIGHT AND MORNING ON GREYLOCK. 257 

Our party had a somewhat different experience, 
yet with a general likeness. A bugle, surreptitiously 
carried to the mountain top, roused us with pleasant 
surprise by a wild reveille as soon as light began to 
kindle beyond the Hoosacs. The surface of the 
mist-sea which filled the valley, lay calm and level 
some two hundred feet below the summit on which 
we stood; everywhere dazzling- white, except upon 
its extreme eastern verge which flushed with rose- 
red — changing soon to gold, and then to golden 
blaze. The sun came up and added new splendor to 
the glowing scene before the morning breeze began 
to disturb its serenity. 

Trom the first, three or four distant peaks were 
seen, like far-off islands in 'a foaming ocean. Now 
the mist began to lift itself with the breeze, and roll 
away into the blue sky; while new islands, promon- 
tories, capes, began to appear, until the green earth 
lay again beneath us, revealed in all its summer 
beauty. So, to some angel, worshipping in awe and 
wonder, the broad scene of creation may have been 
revealed when God said, "Let the waters that are 
under the heavens be gathered into one place, and 
let the dry land appear : and it was so." 

I made an excursion to Greylock prior to the one 
I have just attempted to describe; and I recall it 
now for two specific purposes. After the visit to 
the natural bridge at North Adams, of which I gave 
an account some while ago, my companion and my- 
self walked to Williamstown, where we passed the 
niulit. In the morning we walked to South Williams- 



258 TAGHCONIC. 

town, where, being told that the " Hopper " would 
be intolerable on a day so intensely hot, we aban- 
doned our intention of exploring that torrid gulf, 
and went up the mountain. We had no guide, nor 
any but very obscure directions ^s to the path we 
were to pursue; and, making our way pretty much 
at random, we found ourselves iirst upon Symond's 
Peak. Rectifying our mistake, we reached the 
tower on Greylock, at about one o'clock: not at all 
fatigued by our tramp. Nor were we unpleasantly 
wearied when we reached the hotel at New Ashford 
in the evening, or after our walk to Pittsfield the 
next day. I make this point to correct the impres- 
sion that the ascent to Greylock is either difficult or 
unduly fatiguing to persons of ordinary health and 
powers of endurance. 

I have also taken you to the top of* Greylock 
again, to tell you of our descent from it on that first 
trip, and how it brought us into 

The Heart of Greylock. 

It was not until the middle of the afternoon that 
we yielded to the stern fact that lack of supplies 
and camp equipage would repress our noble rage to 
pass the night upon the mountain top; and we 
shaped our course homeward, taking our bearings 
solely with reference to directness. 

" Straiglit is the line of duty, 
Curved is the line of beauty; 
Follow the first and thou shalt see 
The other ever follow thee." 



THE HEART OF GEEYLOCK. 259 

And that, we found true. Our straight course 
brought us to the verge of a pi-ecipitous descent of 
something more than a thousand feet, but with 
sufficient inclination to give root-hold to a mod- 
erately thick growth of trees. 

Down this sharp descent, we dropped rapidly, 
clinging for support to the branches and under- 
growth, and deliciously refreshed by frequent 
draughts of the cold and limpid water which gushed 
from a thousand springs, and sometimes dripped its 
coolness luxuriously upon our heated, upturned faces. 

At the foot of the precipice, a brook brawled its 
way between banks which afforded a narrow grassy 
glade in the midst of the dark woods. As we stood 
in this sunny opening, we gazed above and around 
us in utter amazement and delight. The chasm into 
which we had been chance-led, was, in shape, an 
inverted cone, truncated at its reversed apex by the. 
little plain intersected by the brook. The walls, at 
least a thousand feet in height, and all over en- 
amelled with the richest forest green, appeared to 
us as perfectly circular and their tops presented a 
line as level against the sky, as though we had looked 
up from within some unroofed round tower or cas- 
tle — of the Titans, for instance. Lost in astonish- 
ment at the strange beauty of the spot, and, still 
more, that whisper of it had never reached us, we 
pursued our way down the stream, to be still more 
amazed when the people who lived near, told us that, 
so far as they knew, it had neither name nor renown. 

Finding afterwards, however, that the persons of 



260 TAGHCONIC. 

« 

whom we sought iuformation were not very intelli- 
gent new-comers, I resumed my pursuit of know- 
ledge, and finally learned from a good old family of 
the neighborhood — besides some pleasant legends 
which I have carefully stored away — that the names 
we sought were " Money Hole " and " Money Brook," 
which were given in respect of a tradition that, in 
Revolutionary times, a gang of counterfeiters used to 
haunt their obscure recesses. I do not know how 
well founded the tradition is; but it is strongly for- 
tified by the fact that, half a century ago, the little 
stream gained the soubriquet of " The Specter 
Brook," because the ghosts of the departed rogues 
were often seen keeping watch and ward at the en- 
trance of the glen, while mysterious noises were 
heard within. I can well believe the phantom part 
of the story; for, to this day, the banks of all our 
mountain streams are all alive, if that is not a 
bull, with sheeted ghosts. 

In the moonlit aiiist restoring 
Vanished forms of long ago. 

The roguish name assigned to what it seemed 
should be rather a classic than a criminal haunt, did 
not altogether please me, and I was glad to discover, 
a year or two later, that Professor Albert Hopkins — 
that gentle, but enthusiastic, spirit to whose fine 
influence Williamstown and Williams College owe 
so much of their esthetic interest — had christened 
it " The Heart of Greylock." 

I was told, too, at the same time, that, had we, on 



BALD MOUNTAIN. 261 

our chance visit, followed the brook up, instead of 
down, its course, we should have soon come to the 
Ei'emite or Hermit Cascade — a waterfall at the 
least as picturesque and wild as Bash-Bish, and which 
I have since heard praised by other admirers in 
similar exalted terms. As I have not yet seen it, my 
memories of Mount Washington are not disturbed; 
but, what with a Specter Brook and a Hermit Cas- 
cade, the Heart of Greylock certainly offers a fine 
field for .an old-fashioned imagination. 

If you are now ready to climb the mountain again, 
I will take you to the summit whose shaven head 
gives it the name of 

Bald Mountain, 

and also enables it to afford a finer view of the 
Williamstown valley than can be obtained from the 
higher peaks. Seven or eight years ago a party 
composed chiefly, it seems, of college professoi'S, 
clergymen and other gravely-gay characters — such 
as much affect Williamstown for a summer resort — 
with a feminine element of the same caste, dwelt for 
a while in leafy tabernacles in a sheltered nook of 
this summit, and one of the party sent a spirited 
account of their joys to the New York Observer, of 
all papers in the world : dating from " Camp Dew- 
Dew " as if the reverend writer were wholly oblivious 
of Don Juan and correct orthography. However, 
his spectacles were good, and we will take a look 
through them from the mountain top. 

"Our camp lies in this slieltered s])ot u])on Bald Mountain, 



262 TAGUCONIC. 

BO near the summit of Greylock that sunset and sunrise 
parties go out daily, and our artists and botanists climb its 
sides iu search of views and botanical treasures * * * Select 
what point you choose of these commanding hills, and below 
you lies the wide valley, the faint blue line of the river wind- 
ing past Williamstowu, Blackinytou, and Adams — the whole 
framed by the encircling sweep of the blue mountains; while 
far away is the white shrift of the observatory on Mount 
Anthony, and farther in the distance still, overtopping all 
nearer summits, loom up the dark hills of Vermont. And this 
landscape is never twice the same : always bold and varied." 

These views are not all to be witnessed from Bald 
Mountain, which is over-topped on the north and 
east by Prospect Mountain and Greylock. I did 
not bring you here, however, for the sake of the 
views; but that you might look down from its 
northern edge into 

Thb Abyss, 

upon which the name of " The Hopper " was early- 
inflicted by that unimaginative imagination whose 
horrid mission seems to have been from the first to 
curse this picturesque mountain group with the most 
common-place nomenclature. I grant that, as you 
look down into the abyss, it has a striking likeness 
in form to the hopper of a grist mill; and that this 
comparison is the readiest mode of conveying to the 
mind of a stranger some idea of its shape; but mere 
form is not the most essential element in the de- 
scription of any natural object; else were the old 
likeness of the moon to a green- cheese felicitous and 
poetic. It seems to me that the one idea which that 



THE HOPPER. 203 

likeness of the abyss to a hopper ought to have sug- 
gested was to cast headlong into it, the wretch who 
first conceived the thought of making use of it in 
naming this grand work of nature, and let him take 
his chances of being well ground up on the rough 
mill-stones at the bottom. 

You will start back in affright lest some such fate 
may befall yourself, if you approach unwarned the 
brink of the chasm on the edge of Bald Mountain. 
Unless nature has favored you with firmer nerves 
than she grants to most men, or you have plied some 
such dreadful ti*ade as the samphire gatherer's, it will 
cost you some effort; with much probability of failure, 
to prepare yourself to observe the abyss from above 
with any calmness, or w'ithout absolute danger of 
fatal dizziness. It is thus, however, that you best 
comprehend the terrific grandeur of the scene. 

Having obtained this apprehension, it will be as 
well if you pursue your study of the place fi'om be- 
low. To do this, you will enter it from the Williams- 
town road, passing through a narrow valley and 
ravine, penetrated by a rocky brook, which, now I 
think of it, used to furnish capital trouting. Reach- 
ing the floor of the chasm, you will discover that it 
does not come to a point, as distance deceived you 
into thinking when you looked from above, but 
affords a level, though rock-cumbered, surface. 
Hero you will find yourselves surrounded by four 
precipitous mountain walls over a thousand feet in 
heiijht, or more than twice as high as the crags of 
Jkloiiument Mountain, although not, like them, abso- 



264 TAGHCONIC. 

lutely perpendicular and bare. On these rough and 
shaggy sides you will see here huge and bare clilfs, 
there ragged trees clinging to steep ascents and 
scanty soil, and there patches of richer wood, but 
still of precarious foothold; here the broad path of 
the land-slide, and there, piled and scattered below, 
its mighty ruins. Vastness and desolation will be 

m 

every where about you; and, if you can rid yourself 
of that disennobling association with a mill-hopper, 
I think you will feel that this great abyss in Grey- 
lock is both terrific and sublime. 

King Greylock's Mountain Height. 

With jollity, jollity, ho, to-night, 
To scale King Greylock's mountain height I 
While many a wild recess profound 
Sends, rattling back, the echoing sound. 
As we startle the sleepy forest gladea 
With the joyous rout of our madcap maids: 
For never a merrier band than they 
E'er climbed at eve this mountain way I 

Ohor. — Then, ho, on our rude, steep path, awayl 

With the morrow's light on the topmost height. 
We must hail the coming pomp of day I 

Oh, whether the height in sunshine lie, 

Or glamour moonlight cheat the eye, 

'Tis a laughing light on the mountain side. 

That owl-eyed care can never abide ; 

And his worldly weight, that worldlings bear, 

Is loosed at the magical touch of our air ; 

Earth's spell is broke — and the heart is free. 

As childhood's in its frolic glee I 



GREYLOCK. 266 

Ohor. — Then, ho, on our rude, steep path, awayl 

With the morrow's light on the topmost height. 
We must hail the coming pomp of day I 

Our beacon fire this night shall glow, 

A gem on the monarch mountain's brow, 

Or far to our dear home valley gleam — 

A new found love-star's gentle beam. 

Then sweeter couch ne'er wooed to rest, 

Than the springy boughs of the green hill's crest* 

Whose leaves our fragrant bed shall be. 

With the starry night for canopy I 

Ohor. — Then, ho, on our rude, steep path, away ! 

With the morrow's light on the topmost height, 
We must hail the coming pomp of day 1 

33 



XIX. 

WAHCONAH FALLS AND A TRADITION 
ABOUT THEM. 

How throbbed my fluttering pulse with hopes and fears. 
To know the color of my future years. — Rogers. 



A little way off the main road in Windsor, a plea- 
sant farming town on the highlands, some ten miles 
from us, are Wahconah Falls. I had heard their 
praises spoken by one who had an affinity with 
beauty which sought out its kindred in all hidden 
nooks; and on a bracing Autumn day I sat out to 
seek them. 

There are few drives through a more agreeable 
region. The villages of Dalton, through which you 
pass, form a handsome town with a fine old meeting- 
house on its ample, lawn-like green. You are en- 
ticed to linger as well by the dark rushing river, 
where you see the groaning locomotive toiling up the 
steep ascent above you. And there, too, the quaint- 
looking paper-mills by the river side, go far to make 
up a pretty and novel scene. It is said, that as 
bright glances are sometimes thrown from the win- 
dows of these oddly shapen manufactories as from 
any balcony, lattice or verandah whatever 

The paper manufacture,. a great leading interest of 



WAHCO>fAH FALLS. 267 

Berkshire, was here introduced into the county in 
1799, by Zenas Crane, whose sons and grandsons 
still carry it on, making among other styles the 
paper upon which the bonds and bank bills of the 
United States government are printed. One ol 
them, Hon. Zenas M. Crane, is the proprietor of 
Wahconah Falls, of whose romantic beauty he is 
one of the-ipost enthusiastic admirers. Leaving be- 
hind us the pretty villages of Dalton, and its prettier 
belles — a production for which it was famed long 
before it gained renown for j^aper-making — we 
soon come to The Falls, a romantic miniature cataract, 
jxtst far enough from the highway to be sheltered 
from the too careless eye. 

Wahconah Brook, one of the larger of the nu- 
merous eastern branches of the Ilousatonic, here 
pours through perpendicular cliffs of dark grey rock, 
a considerable volume of water, which, in two or 
three leaps, makes a descent of seventy or eighty 
feet. The dark, precipitous cliffs form a striking 
and sombre vista, and the black and glossy surface 
of the water affords a fine contrast with the silvery 
white of the foam into which it breaks. But the 
peculiar charm which wins the place so many and 
so constant admirers is indefinable. 

One may be sure of passing a pleasant hour at 
such a spot. The swift, smooth gliding of water 
always brings a pleasurable sensation, and there is 
rare music in the dash of a waterfall free from the 
discordant clatter of machinery. Alas, too rare in 
man ufactunng Massachusetts ! I confess to a malicious 



268 TAGHCONIC. 

joy in looking upon the blackened ruins of an old 
mill which used to stand here, but perished long 
ago in some fierce conflict with the insulted elements. 
Heaven send thee no successor, thou grim and grin- 
ning skeleton ! 

It is in such places as this, that sensible people 
cut up all manner of boyish antics. Never be over 
nice about dignity when in near pursuit of the 
better thing, woodland or rural enjoyment; leave 
gravity and etiquette at home, in your wardrobe, 
with all other starched and flimsy articles of ap-' 
parel, and all the flummery of life. Get astride an 
island rock, that midway divides the stream; where 
the torrent shall throw its spray over you, and the 
current dash by on either side your slippery foot- 
hold. Shout ! Rival the noisy, angry stream at its 
own game. Observe now how superior is organic 
sound to any mere inarticulate noise: your voice 
lost in the thunder of the cataract, so that you can- 
not hear your own words, comes out clear and dis- 
tinct, to your friends upon the shore. So the voice 
of true and prophetic genius, lost now in the mad 
roar of the multitude, shall ring its message clearly 
in the ear of the listening future. 

This cascade makes good its claim to be called 
beautiful by gaining constantly upon your affec- 
tions. You come again and again to sit by its ebon 
pools, and let your eye glide with the fall of its 
glossy sheet, and sparkle with the glittering frag- 
ments into which it breaks amoncj the rocks. I like 
these miiior cataracts, wbich do not oppress you 



WAHCONAH. 269 

with their sublimity, where your soul is not absorbed 
by any awful grandeur. They are like those plesant 
books where something is left for the imagination 
of the reader. There is room for the delights of an 
" if: " if it had been hung in air like the white 
ribbon of a bridal bonnet; if it had been swollen to 
mighty bulk, and curved like a horse shoe: if it 
had fallen from so far that it had lost its way to 
earth, and so flown back on iridescent wings to 
heaven. Why, one has a whole cabinet of possible 
picturesques in that little germ. 

There is a tradition about these falls which I 
heard, long years ago, from a young Indian of the 
civilized Stockbridge tribe, who had come back 
from the western exile of his people to be educated 
at an eastern college. I hope it will please you. 

Wahconah. 

At the close of the great Pequot war in 1637, you 
will recollect that the remnant of that gallant but 
unhappy nation were driven from Connecticut, and 
scattered abroad, as they plaintively said, " like the 
autumn leaves which return not, though the tree 
grow green again." In this sad exodus, a majority 
of the fugitives went to swell the Onuhgungo and 
other fierce tribes of Canada which afterwards took 
such dreadful vengeance upon the western border 
settlements of New England. Bui some bands 
chose to pause by the way in the valleys of the 
Housatonic and the Hoosac, where the brotherly 
kindness of the Mohegans and the Mohawks granted 



210 TAGHCONIC. 

them homes in which game was plenty and hunters 
were few. 

One of these small parties, under the lead of a 
young brave, called Miahcomo, built their frail 
village in that part of the valley now called Dalton. 
Here, for forty years, they lived in peace, and, be- 
getting sons and daughters, increased in numbers far 
beyond the red man's wont. The hill-side, where 
they buried their dead; the glen, whose thick woods 
reflected the red glare of their council fire, became 
dear to them as home; but above all, the inaccessible 
mountains were prized, as the hunted man only can 
prize the strength of the hills. 

Almost forty years had passed since the little tribe 
fled from the flames of Fort Mystic, when the great 
sachem of the Wampanoags came to them. With 
strong logic, and glowing eloquence, he painted the 
rapid encroachments of the white man, and passion- 
ately besought them to join in that league which, in 
the following year, well nigh swept the English 
colonists from the soil of New England. 

The young braves grasped their tomahawks as they 
listened, and the sympathetic eye of woman kindled 
with almost martial fire. But the rulers in savage, 
as in civilized, life, can sometimes be j)rudent men. 
The chiefs crushed with cold words of sympathy the 
hopes which had quickened in the smiles of the 
people. Miahcomo — the same Avho had led the 
tribe from the pursuit of the English — still ruled 
them: and the voun<T warriors muttered that the 
horrors of the last night of Fort Mystic, had turned 



WAHCONAH. 271 

his blood to water at the thought of the Long 
Knives — although bold as an eagle towards aught 
else. In more cautious tones they whispered, that 
if ever a spark of the old fire rekindled in Miahcomo's 
breast, the wily and cowardly priest Tashmu was 
always at hand to quench it. Thus the mission of 
Philip failed, and the tribe continued in peace. 

In the early summer, nearly two years after the 
visit of Philip, Miahcomo and his wai*riors were 
summoned to meet the Mohawks — to whom they 
had become feudatories — beyond the Taghconics. 
Trusting to the quiet of the valley, the village was 
left in charge of the women, and a few decrepit old 
men. Among the former was Wahconah, the old 
chief's favorite daughter, a young lady of singular 
personal attractions, and skilled in all the fine arts 
in vogue among her countrywomen — especially in 
that of angling. 

What with all these accomplishments, and the high 
rank of her father, it is little wonder that Wahconah 
was the idol of all the young men of the village, and, 
although yet almost a child in years, had — so the 
rumor ran — received offers matrimonial from a 
certain mysterious Mohawk dignitary. This latter 
worthy, the wigwam gossips unanimously agreed, 
would carry off the prize, whenever he came in person 
to claim it — for it was a thing unheard of in Indian 
wooing, that a brave of fifty scalps should sue in vain. 

The young gallants of the Housatonic did not, 
for all this, remit one whit of their attentions, so 
that, while they were over the border with her 



272 TAGHCONIC. 

father, the hours hung heavily on the hands of 
Wahconah. It was, perhaps, to while away the 
tediousness; perhaps to get a nice dish for her 
lodge, that the maiden, one sunny afternoon in 
June, took her fishing lines and wandered up the 
river to our cascade. Before the sun went down, 
her success had been abundant, and she only waited 
for one more last prize — a habit which I notice is 
still invariable with successful people, be they 
anglers, speculators, or what not. 

But Wahconah did not, after all, seem to have 
fully set her heart upon this final prize. On the 
contrary, she lay luxuriously back upon the soft 
greensward, playfully twining a few scarlet colum- 
bines in her dark hair, and smoothing softly down 
the gay feathers of the oriole and blue bird that 
decorated the edges of her white deer-skin robe — 
a garment which, it must be confessed, was rather 
excessive in its Bloomerism, considering the primi- 
tive nature of the wearer's pettiloons; but that 
was the fashion of the day, and no fault of Wah- 
conah's. 

The child-like maiden revelled in the very fullness 
of delightful revery. With a gentle, undisturbing 
thrill, she felt the i-ichly colored clouds fill her with 
their delicious warmth; she dipped her little foot 
in the stream and laughed aloud to feel the soft 
caresses of the current; she mocked the black-bird 
that sung upon the oak, and the squirrel that chirped 
upon the hickory; she threw flowers and leaves upon 
the wave, and smiled maidenly when two chanced 



WAHCONAH. 273 

to meet and float together down tlie stream — for 
that was a love omen. That must have been a 
pleasant sight in the summer twilight, almost two 
hundred years ago. 

Pity if it had been lost ! — as it was not; fpr all 
the while a young warrior had been looking on, 
from the shelter of a Avood on the other side of the 
stream. It was certainly indelicate in him to play 
so long the spy upon a maiden's reveries, but one 
cannot find it in his heart to blame too severely, 
when he considers the temptation; and, besides, 
that the offender was but a mere savage, who 
never had the advantage of the counsels of Chester- 
field, Abbott, or any " Young Man's Friend " what- 
ever. The promptings of nature, however, did at 
last suggest to him the impropriety Of his course; 
or perhaps he grew impatient. At all events, he 
hailed Wahconah, in the flowery language of Indian 
gallantry, " Qua Alangua ! " that is to say, " Hail I 
Bright Star ! " 

Wahconah, startled at the sudden appearance of 
a strange warrior, in the absence of her tribesmen, 
sprang to her feet; but preserving the calmness be- 
fitting Miahcomo's daughter, replied " Qua Sesah 1 " 
that is " Hail ! Brother ! " " Nessacus," continued 
the stranger, introducing himself, " Nessacus is 
weary with flying before the Long Knives, and his 
people faint by the way. Will the Bright* Star's 
people shut their lodges against their brethren '? " 

Miahcomo has gone toward the setting sun," 
replied the maiden — who by this time had pro- 



274 TAGHCONIC^ 

bably come to the conclusion that Nessacus was 
a very handsome young man, and well behaved — 
" but his lodges are always open, * Let my brother's 
people follow, and be welcome." 

A signal from the young chief brought a weary, 
travel-worn band to his side, and Wahconah led the 
way to the village, while Nessacus related to her the 
sad story of Philip's defeat and death, " They waste 
us," he said, " as the pestilence which forerun them 
wasted our fathers," 

" The Manitou is angry with his red children," 
said Wahconah; " He makes the white man m^ighty, 
by the strength of the long knife and the fire bird." 

" It is not that," responded her companion bitterly, 
" but the traitor's tongue at our council fires, and the 
traitor's arrow upon our war-path." 

Wahconah remembered what the people whispered 
concerning Tashmu, and was silent. 

Thus they came to the village; but I must let pass 
the welcome, and the housekeeping as well, until 
Miahcomo's return. Suffice it that in those pleasant 
days in that moon of flowers, the young people did 
precisely what you and I would have been likely to 
do: fell violently in love; and, what was more, in 
utter disregard of Indian notions of propriety, con- 
fessed it to each other — a breach of aboriginal 
etiquette, you will the more readily pardon, if you 
know experimentally, as I have no doubt you do, 
how dementing is the glance of a bright eye and the 
bloom of a damask cheek in the soft light of a June 



WAHCONAH. 2 "75 

evening, when your heart is as full of love as the air 
is of fragrance. 

Four suns had ripened the passion of our new 
lovers, and a fifth was shining genially upon it, when 
a messenger came in, announcing the near approach 
of Miahcomo ; and, as the custom was, all the people 
went out to meet him. What visions of happiness, 
our dreamers had built up in their barbarous way, I 
cannot tell : nor do I know whether, as a rule, Indian 
sires have such a fatal way of laying siege to air- 
castles, as more civilized fathers use: so you can 
guess as well as I, whether any tremblings troubled 
the hearts of our young friends, akin to what young 
Squire Mansfield and old Banker Barkei-'s daughter 
might experience in corresponding circumstances. 
But, remember, one love is much like another. 

Wahconah and the chief of her guests stood to- 
gether on a shaded knoll as, just up the valley, the 
returning warriors came in sight. Their leader is 
described as a fine old hero as one should desire to 
see. His tall sinewy frame was scarcely bent by the 
snows of seventy years; every wrinkle in his face 
was firm as if it were a new sinew of added strength; 
his eye, keen and piercing as that of his youngest 
archer. 

By the chief's side, walked a different figure; 
meek even to cringing, with an uncertain step, and 
weak, restless, unquiet eye. It was the priest, Tash- 
mu — one of that strange caste, often hated, some- 
times despised, but always feared by the aborigines. 
This Tashmu was a constant attendant upon Miah- 



276 TAGHCONIC. 

como, and, it was said had acquired a mysterious and 
powerful influence over the sachem's mind. 

Wahconah shrank from the presence of the wizard 
as the summer flower shrinks from the north wind; 
but his, was, for once, not the most unwelcome figure 
which met her eye. With her father and his spiritual 
adviser, came a burly warrior, not positively old, 
nor absolutely ugly — only a little smoke-dried or so, 
and marked by transverse and obverse scars, which, 
although doubtless honorable, might have been dis- 
pensed with as matters of mere beauty. Grace would 
have likened his face to a smoked ham ornamentally 
slashed. He was evidently conscious of his renown, 
and wore the scalps which hung dangling in pro- 
fusion about him, as proudly as ever civilized hero 
his jewelled star or blushing ribbon. Wahconah 
guessed but too shrewdly, that this was her Mohawk 
suitor — although he was far too dignified a character 
to conduct his wooing in the unceremonious manner 
which suited his young rival. Perhaps it had been 
awkward work had he tried. 

When the parties met, a few words explained to 
the chief, the character of the strangers, and why 
they were his guests; which ensured a hearty con- 
firmation of the welcome extended them by his 
daughter. Whatever may have been his medita- 
tions upon learning the new disasters of his race, 
and however bitter were the memories they recalled, 
they did not hinder his holding high revel that 
night upon the banks of the brook; where feasts 
were celebrated and athletic games held in honor 



WAHCONAH. 217 

at once of all his guests. Such was the courteous 
custom of the woods. I leave you to guess whose 
eyes brightened as Nessacus carried ofE all the 
prizes for daring feats, and skillful ; and whose 
darkened as the brawny arms and square frame of 
the Mohawk, ' Yonnongah, excelled all in their 
marvellous strength. There was yet another eye 
stealthily and intently watching every glance and 
motion, and divining the thoughts of careless hearts. 
For Tashmu was already, by his evil instinct, the 
enemy of the young exile. 

Nessacus was no laggard in love nor in business. 
Early on the morning after the feast, he repaired to 
the lodge of Miahcomo, and the two remained long . 
in conference. The visit was again and again re- 
peated, but still the nature of their consultations 
did not transpire: only the name of Wahconah was 
mixed in the gossip concerning them; and it was 
surmised that the courtship of Yonnongah was 
perhaps getting in a bad way. The young chief 
was certainly gaining the favor of the old, and, as 
the people hoped, undermining the influence of the 
dread-inspiring Tashmu : love was casting out fear. 
But the Mohawk was powerful and the priest crafty; 
and both were busy and dangerous enemies. For 
the present it was the part of the latter to discover 
the desires and plans of Nessacus, and bring them 
into the open day, where his ally could attack them 
with his might. 

There was no great difficulty in effecting the re- 
velation; for there was no longer any purpose or 
24 



278 TAGHCONIO. 

possibility of concealment. And two propositions 
soon came to be national affairs, for discussion at 
the tribe's council fires: the first was for the marriage 
of Nessacus and Wahconah; the second for the 
migration of the tribe to the west, beyoud the reach 
of the white man's encroachments. 

To the first, Miahcomo gave his support; but he 
clung to the spot where he had ruled so long and 
so happily. 

On the other hand, Yonnongah demanded the 
maiden for his fourth wife, on the strength of some 
ancient promise of her father ; and denounced the 
far-reaching vengeance of his nation, if their tribu- 
taries should attempt to migrate beyond their 
jurisdiction. The amorous old warrior seemed im- 
movably bent upon securing Wahconah for his 
lodge; alternately employing threats and those 
sweet promises, of which even an Indian lover can 
be so profuse — especially in the ripe exi^ei'ience of 
his fourth courtship. This was no matter of jest 
with the sorely perplexed father and sachem; for 
Yonnongah was a man of might in his nation, and 
would have scant scruples of delicacy in carrying 
out his threats. All which, Tashmu lost no oppor- 
tunity for urging upon his dismayed chief, to the 
great detriment of our hero's suit. 

Nessacus soon saw how matters were tending, and 
took a bold, impetuous man's short way out of the 
difiiculty, by challenging his rival to decide the issue 
by arms. Yonnongah, who, to do him justice, was 
as fearless as Nessacus himself, closed at once with 



WAHCONAH. 279 

the proposal; but the priest was not thus to be 
balked of his chance for villainy. Signs and potents 
multiplied marvellously: not a bird could fly, or a 
fish swim, or a cl6ud float, but each and all were 
pregnant with divine prohibition of the proposed 
duel. The powers above and below combined to 
forbid it. The thunder muttered the supernal veto; 
the winds breathed it; the stars winked it. If one 
could put perfect faith in Tashmu, never was such 
a commotion in heaven and " elsewhere," as the 
coming combat had created. The ordeal of arms 
was abandoned. 

It was only fair, since the gods had issued their 
fiat against one method of solving the tribe's per- 
plexity, that they should provide another. So 
thought Tashmu, and exclaimed in the council, 
" Let the Great Spirit speak ! " 

" Let the Great Spirit speak, and we will obey," 
repeated Miahcomo reverently. 

And Yonnongah said: " It is well ! " 

It was then proclaimed that Tashmu would, by 
divination, enquire that night, in the Wizard's 
Glen, how the will of the Manitou should be as- 
certained; and a " bad spell " was denounced against 
all who should disturb his incantations, by going 
beyond the precincts of the village. 

Many predicted ill to Nessacus from this com- 
mittal of his fate to the hands of a well-known 
enemy; but none ventured to remonstrate against 
a decree recognized by law as heaven-inspired: and 
still more venturesome would it have been to rebel 



280 TAGHCONIC. 

against the edict, if it emanated, as some believed, 
from authority the reverse of heavenly. 

A few rods below the cataract of Wahconah Falls 
is, or was, a sharp rock which midway divides the 
stream. At the date of our tradition, the current 
flowed smoothly and evenly on the two sides of it, 
and it had often been used, like the flight of birds, 
the aspect of clouds and other simple objects in 
nature, to ascertain the will of heaven. Upon the 
night of Tashmu's supposed divination in the " "Wiz- 
ard's Glen," that resj^ectable minister of religion 
might, instead, have been seen here, assisted by the 
stronger arms of his Mohawk friend, tugging away 
at certain great rocks which lay near the shore, and 
which they finally contrived to place in the water, 
BO as to impede the current upon one side. 

At this same spot, by the river side, a day or two 
afterwards, the tribe were assembled, and it was an- 
nounced to them that Manitou had delegated the 
spirit of the stream to settle their difliculties. In 
other words — a small canoe, curiously carved with 
mysterious hieroglyphics, was to be launched midway 
in the river and, as the current chanced to carry it 
on one side or the other of the dividing rock, the 
questions in dispute were to be decided. This was 
a mode of solving knotty points by no means un- 
common, and which, therefore, excited no surprise, 
except that the priest's chances for trickery seemed to 
be lessened. Simple souls ! who knew not that what 
appears the fairest field often affords the best harvest 
to accomplished knaves ! 



WAHCONAH. 281 

An " era of good feeling " seemed now to dawn. 
All pai'ties hastened to adopt this as a "finality." 
Tashmu, in oily words, wished well to his brother 
Nessacus; and Nessacus resigned himself unreserv- 
edly, to the care of his brother Tashmu. The priest 
was as much puzzled as pleased at this sudden access 
of confidence; but it, at least, made his part easy 
to play. 

A solemn feast was now held; and the magical 
bark, freighted with so many hopes, was then poised 
in the middle of the stream. Miahcomo was placed 
in savage state, at a conspicuous point, while Yon- 
nongah and his rival were assigned separate sides of 
the river. 

"Let Manitou speak ! " exclaimed the priest; and 
the sacred canoe, released from its moorings, floated 
steadily down the stream — inclining now to the right 
hand, now to the left. All eyes intently followed its 
course, hardly doubting that, by some charm or other, 
Tashmu would at last cause it to pass near Yonnon- 
gah. You will guess that none counted more con- 
fidently on such a result than that worthy himself. 
Still the bark floated regardlessly on, until it touched 
the magic rock — hung poised there for a moment, 
then seemed to incline toward the Mohawk; but, the 
inconstant current striking it obliquely, it swung 
slowly round, as upon a j^ivot, and passed down the 
stream, by the feet of Nessacus. 

" Wagh ! the Great Spirit hath spoken, and it is 
good?" exclaimed Miahcomo; and the people whose 



282 TAGHCONIC. 

hearts the young chief had somehow gained, shouted 
" Ho ! It is good ! " 

The priest and his accomplice gazed at each other 
in silent astonishment, that Heaven could possibly 
decide against arguments of such weight as they had 
used. The former, for a moment, began to suspect 
that a great God might possibly, in reality, rule in 
the affairs of men — making him to bless whom he 
would have cursed. But the idea was too mighty 
for him, and he recurred, naturally, to a suspicion of 
treachery. I need not say, however, that he had his 
own reasons for not pressing an immediate investiga- 
tion. I do not know that it ever occurred to him 
that Nessacus might have been a witness to his pious 
midnight labors, and improving upon the hint, ren- 
dered them abortive. 

The assent of all parties was accordingly given to 
the proposed marriage; and the time which inter- 
vened between the trial and a " lucky day," was to be 
filled up with feasting and revelry. The disaj)pear- 
ance of Tashmu from the scene added to the hilarity 
of the occasion, and all was wild merriment. 

But alarming intelligence interrupted their festi- 
vities. The terrible Major Talcott, with his soldiers, 
had pursued the brave sachem of Quaboag across 
the mountains, and slain him with more than two 
score of his best warriors, at Mahaiwe, on the banks 
of the Housatonic, not thirty miles from the set- 
tlement of Miahcomo, Even their temporary secu- 
rity was gone; the mountain barrier was already 
passed. 



WAHCONAH. 283 

The fugitives from the battle at Mahaiwe came 
thronging in, but at last brought intelligence that the 
invaders had returned. A party of them brought, 
also, the missing Tashmu, whom they accused of 
having offered to lead the enemy to the refuge of 
Nessacus. The evidence of his guilt was complete, 
and the fate of the criminal was not delayed by 
any unnecessary judicial forms. 

Only a want of provisions had prevented Major 
Tallcott from accepting the wizard's kind offer, 
and he might now return, at any moment, to profit 
by it. The best haste was accordingly made in their 
migration, and before the November winds blew, 
Nessacus had led them to a home in the west, where 
they became a great tribe, and flourished for many 
generations, bef oi"e they again heard the white man's 
rifle. 

As for Wahconah, the story of her happiness 
comes down to us, through Indian traditions, faint 
and far, but sweet as the perfume which a western 
gale might bring from a far-off prairie. 



XX. 

MAPLEWOOD AND BERKSHIRE'S BEAUTY, 

Strowed with pleasaunce, whose fayre grassy grownd, 

Mantled with greene and goodly beautified 

With all the ornaments of Flora's pride. — Fairie Queene. 



It is like a picture in an old story book about 
France la belle, with arching trees in front, a temple 
and chateau in the back-ground, and maidens and 
peasant-girls in all — is the scene at our Young 
Ladies' Institute, of a pleasant summer twilight. 
All its light hearted inmates are out in full glee, 
with circling games and ringing laughter — the 
truest children of health, content, and innocence. 

But all are not in the giddy group: some have 
separated from it, and, in couples, with arms affec- 
tionately inter-twined, are slowly walking down the 
long paths, pouring into each other's ears the precious 
secrets of maiden confidence — all the hopes, the 
dreams, the fears which can find a lodging place in 
pure hearts. Very precious are those hopes and 
fears; although neither may ever be realized, yet 
shall they be a part of life and a part of the woman 
in all her future. In this life of ours, we pile dream 
upon dream, effort upon disappointed effort, until 



MAPLEWOOD. 286 

the apparent fruitlessness attains to some sort of 
fruition and reality. There are few things in poetry 
more beautifully and truthfully said, than these 
lines of Henry Taylor: 

" The tree 
Sucks kindlier nurture from a soil enriched 
By its own fallen leaves ; and man is made 
In heart and spirit from deciduous hopes, 
And things which seem to perish." 

TJnder the vine shaded bowers, or by the sparkling 
fountain, sits here and there a solitary maiden, with 
thoughts, perhaps, far away in a happy home; 
striving to bring to her fancy the family group as 
it is in the old homestead at the pleasant close of 
day. She may well be pardoned if, even in this 
pleasarrt home of learning, she steals a little while 
from young companionship, to let the warm but not 
bitter tears run freely down her cheeks. She will 
soon rejoin the merry circle, not the least merry 
there. 

I used constantly to attend the examinations, ex- 
hibitions and concerts in the pretty chapel. I don't 
go so often now. The fact* is the girls get my poor 
mind into a fearful muddle with their sines, cosines, 
sonatas, arias, ballads, tangents, French nasals, sub- 
jectives, German gutturals, objectives, and all the 
rest; till I go home and dream that "Ah, non 
giunge " is Greek for the segment of a circle, and 
that some delicious voice is trilling out in notes 
that reach E alt., a + h — c = x ! How it did wring 
my heart one anniversary day — that is the feminine 



286 TAGHCONIC. 

of " commencement " — to see a venerable Doctor 
in Divinity utterly non-plussed by a saucy Miss 
whom lie had under cross-examination as to her 
theology. " You did not learn that here ! " he ex- 
claimed in astonishment at some startling hetero- 
doxy," " Oil dear, no sir ! " was the pert response, 
" I knew it a long while before I came here ! " The 
good man laughed a polite little laugh; but he 
looked much less the great divine he certainly was, 
than his conqueror did the little divinity she very 
possibly was not. 

It was not so in the good old times; but now we 
are required to believe that beauty and brains are 
as natural concomitants as strawberries and cream. 
" Well," as I once heard two astute politicians of 
opposing schools, agree as they went out from one 
of Wendell Phillip's lectures on Female Suffrage, 
" Well, I suppose we must submit to the inevitable." 
But they did not vote for it, nevertheless. 

The grounds of Maplewood are very beautiful. 
Nothing in our village is more fascinating to the 
stranger's eye than its lawns, groves and winding 
avenues, with their rich ornamentation of bowers, 
fountains, vases, and flowers; and, grouped in the 
center of all, the classic chapel, the balconied dor- 
mitories and the elephantine gymnasium. The 
latter, by the by, was the grand old churcli in which 
Thomas Allen, the Bennington battle-parson. Presi- 
dent Allen of Bowdoin College, President Humphrey 
of Amherst, Rev, Di-, John Todd and other noted 
divines once preached as pastors, and in which Dr. 



MAPLEWOOD. 287 

Holmes first read his " Ploughboy." Maplewood is 
ilso historical in another point; occupying the 
grounds which in the war of 1812 belonged to the 
cantonment where thousands of national troops 
gathered for the campaigns on the northern border; 
and in which the prisoners of war, taken in those 
camjjaigns, were confined: fruitful subjects for the 
young ladies' themes, as it seems to me. After the 
war, Professor Chester Dewey, the eminent natural- 
ist, established here a boy's school of high reputa- 
tion; and, in 1841, Rev. Wellington H, Tyler foun- 
ded the present institute, and soon gained for it a 
grand reputation. 

The world has found out the picturesque charms, 
and not unpicturesque comforts, of Maplewood; and 
now, from June to October it is permitted to in- 
vade the sacred precincts with its fashions and 
pleasures. Even the dance — tabooed in term-time, or 
masked as " steps and figures " — treads gently the 
tempting floor between the Corinthian columns of 
Gymnasium Hall; and serenades sweetly thrill the 
balconies sacred from such follies for the rest of the 
year. Maplewood Institute becomes Maplewood 
Hall: just as you may have read in weird story of 
enchanted persons who passed their lives alternating 
between two widely different shapes. 

It is all very odd, and it's all very charming; but 
I did not bring you here on that account. You 
asked me, nometime ago — yes: I am sure you did — 
"What is it, after all, that makes this Berkshire so 
very beautiful ! Now come to the tower of this 



288 TAGHCONIC. 

gymnasium, which stands practically in the center 
of our glorious amphitheatre of hills, and I will 
show you. 

Yes, the views certainly are comprehensive and 
superb: we will attend to them in a moment. But 
first listen to Mr. Ruskin, whom I suppose you will 
recognize as a competent interpreter of the laws of 
beauty. 

" That country is always the most beautiful which is made 
up of the most curves. " 

That is the great teacher's absolute dictum di-' 
rectly applicable here : and listen to another, appli- 
cable by indirection but clearly pertinent. 

" In all beautiful desigrvs of exterior descent, a certain regu- 
larity is necessary ; the lines should be graceful, but they 
must also balance each other, slope answering to slope, and 
statue to statue." 

And now observe what may be considered Mr. 
Ruskin's application of the first-quoted law. It 
forms part of his ideal description or characteriza- 
tion of " the picturesque blue country" of England; 
that is, a country having a blue distance of moun- 
tains : 

" Its first and most distinctive peculiarity is its grace ; it is 
all undulation and variety of line, one curve passing into 
another with the most exquisite softness, rolling away into 
faint and far outlines of various depths and decision, yet none 
hard or harsh ; and, in all probability, rounded off in the 
near ground into massy forms of partially wooded hill, 
shaded downward into winding dingles or cliffy ravines, e^ch 
form melting imperceptibly into the next, without an edge or 



Berkshire's beauty. 289 

" Every line is voluptuous, floating and wavy in its form ; 
deep, rich and exquisitely soft in its color; drowsy in its 
effect, like slow, wild music; letting the eye repose upon it, 
as on a wreath or cloud, without one feature of harshness to 
hurt, or of contrast to awaken." 

I cannot quote the whole description ; but you 
will find it in the Essay upon the Poetry of Archi- 
tecture; and grand reading the whole book will be 
for Berkshire summer days. 

But look around you now. Mr. Ruskin might 
have written the quoted passages sitting here uj^on 
this tower; and been guilty of nothing worse than 
almost Pre-Raphaelite precision. The landscape is 
literally all curves: there is not a straight or un- 
graceful line in it, except it be of man's making.' 
In what graceful sweeps those mountain walls were 
thrown up. Into what an endless and infinitely 
varied succession of interlacing loops and curves, 
the old glaciers scalloped their crests and indented 
their ravines. The meanderings of the countless 
brooks, the serpentine windings of the Housatonic, 
the wavy and sinuous contours of the lakes, soothe 
the eye by the multitude of their luxurious curves. 
The bare morains, the wooded knolls, the mossy 
maple-groves and clumpy stretches of willow, are 
all soft and rounded. The shadows which lie 
under the solitary trees on the hill side, have no 
harsher shape than that which the fleecy passing 
cloud casts near them. Nay, Nature, compelling 
man to her own sweet mood, forces him to bend his 
railroads and highways gently around the circled 

bases of her mountains. Even when he makes his 
25 



290 TAGHCONIC. 

"Ways straight, " Nature soon touches in her pic- 
turesque graces," and covers his streets and his habi- 
tations with her swelling drapery, Berkshire, as you 
see it here, surely answers well to Mr. Ruskin's de- 
finition of " the most beautiful country." 

And as to the demands of the second passage 
which I have quoted, and to the general requisitions 
of his essay; I repeat what I have said elsewhere: 

" A lovelier landscape one might not desire to see ; and 
when satiated with long luxurious gazing, the spectator seeks 
to analyze the sources of his delight, all the elements of 
beauty j ustify his praise. To the eye the valley here presents 
the proportions which architects love to give their favorite 
structures. The symmetry, too, with which point answers to 
opposing point, exceeds the attainment of art. 

" Variety, the most marvellous, but without confusion, for- 
bids the sense to tire. Colors, the richest, softest and most 
delicate charm the eye, and vary with the ever-changing con- 
ditions of the atmosphere. Fertile farms and frequent villages 
imbue the scene with the warmth of generous life; while, 
over all, hangs the subdued grandeur which may well have^ 
pervaded the souls of the great and good men who have made 
Berkshire their home from the days of Jonathan Edwards 
down." 

And now*, in order that we may get back to the 
Institute, and, as I am in moderately good humor 
to-night — and moreover as it seems half-way per- 
tinent to the subject — I will give the young ladies 
a little sermon, upon a German text, or variation 
upon a German theme — as they may elect to call 
it — which I made a long while ago — in fact, before 
any of them were born. It had a little adventure 
once, which may improve its flavor. After it had 



MAPLKWOOD. 291 

duly gone the rounds of the newspapers, and been 
consigned, as I supposed, to its long home — the limbo 
of fugitive verse — it suddenly reappeared; being 
communicated to a " spiritual " journal by some great 
departed, through a female medium of Chelsea. It 
was tricked out in grave clothes of very flowery 
prose, but I recognized the familiar thing in a 
moment, and have restored it to its original versif orm 
dress. Still I beg that you will treat it with the 
regard due to one who has come back from the tomb 
for your instruction. 

Scatter the Germs of the Beautiful. 

" ©treat eifrig in empfdnalitfje Oemiit^er, 
5)c8 (Suten uiib be* ©djoneii ©ameiiforner, 
©ie feimeii mib erbliiljeii bort .^ii 53aumen, 
3)ie golbiie "■^Jarabiefesfriidjte trageii." 



Scatter the germs of the beautiful ; 

By the wayside let them fall, 
That the rose may sprint; by the cottage eide, 

And the vine on the garden wall. 
Cover the rough and the rude of earth 

With a veil of leaves and flowers, 
And strew with the opening bud and cup 

The path of the summer hours. 

Scatter the germs of the beautiful 

In the holy shrine of home ; 
Let the pure and the fair and the graceful ther* 

In their loveliest luster come: 
Leave not a trace of deformity 

In the temple of the heart, 
But gather about its hearth, the gems 

Of na*ure and of art. 



292 TAGIICONIC. 

Scatter the gorms of the beautiful 

In the temples of our God ; 
The God who starred the uplifted sky 

And flowered the trampled sod. 
When he built a temple for himself, 

And a home for his priestly race 
fie reared each arch in symmetry. 

And curved each line in grace. 

Scatter the ijerms ot the beautiful 

In the depths of the human soul ; 
They shall blossom there and bear thee fratt| 

While the endless ages roll. 
Plant with the pure and beautiful 

This pathway to the tomb, 
And the pure and fair about thj path 

In Paradise shall bloom 



XXL 
QUAINT OLD STOCKBRIDGE. 

Of alienee is the thunder born. — OercUd Mousey. 



So much has been written about the fair old 
town of Stockbridge that the tourist finds almost 
every rood of its soil already storied ground. Sel- 
dom does genius owe so much to its dwelling place, 
and still more rarely is the debt so richly paid. 
The scenes which have received their fame at the 
hand of Bryant or Miss Sedgwick need no new cele- 
bration here; nor does the town which has been the 
theater of so much curious history, and the home or 
birth-place of so many men of intellectual power. 
Yet the interest which already attaches to such 
places communicates somewhat of its own zest to 
whatever may be newly written concerning them. 
The world has a singular craving to know more of 
that of which it already knows much, rather than 
to follow the traveller in " fresh fields and pastures 
new." You may have noted that the gaping crowd 
always have the readiest and loudest laugh for 
their orator's stalest jokes. They are prepared for 



294 TAGHCONIC. 

the point the moment it comes, while the brightest 
of them will not seize the gist of the most spark- 
ling original witticism until the opportunity to 
laugh at it is long past. So, always, the world feels 
a comfortable security in enjoying that which has 
before pleased and interested it: that is the advan- 
tage that one has in following the path which has 
already been broken out by genius. And in some 
such fashion we will explore old Stockbridge. 

There are many objects and localities here, the 
mere mention of which suggests to you a story or a 
picture, although the story may never have beea 
written, and the picture may never have been born 
of pencil or camera. " Old Stockbridge on the 
Plain" is full of these thought-compelling objects. 
Cradled between hills, enriched by frequent costly 
villas, picturesque cottages and handsome orna- 
mental grounds, the world-renowned model village 
of New England lies stretched for a mile along a 
level surface formed in great part by a singular em- 
bankment of the Ilousatonic, which, although doubt- 
less the work of nature, half deceives you by its 
regularity into the belief that it is artificial. The 
river here moves in its most exquisite curves, and is 
bordered by its richest meadows. Bryant in his 
Reminiscences of Miss Sedgwick — published in her 
" Life and Letters " edited by Miss Dewey — thus 
describes the scene as it first met his eye in the Oc- 
tober of 1816, on his first visit to southern Berkshire. 

" The woods were in all the glory of autumn, and I well 
remember, as I pasaed through Stockbridge, how much I was 



STOCKBKIDtJE. 296 

struck by tbe beauiy of tli« smfiotli, jfreen meadows, on the 
banks of that lovely river which winds near tlie Sedgwick 
family manBion; the Housatonic whose gently flowing water 
seemed tinged with the gold and crimson of the trees that 
overhung them. I admired no less tlie contrast between thia 
soft scene, and the sleep craggy hills that overlooked it, 
clothed with their many colored forests." 

Wealth and time have, since Mr. Bryant's picture 
was drawn, done something to adorn the original; 
nothing to mar its wild heauties or its soft luxuri- 
ance. It is still sought by the beauty-seeking artist. 
Before artist or poet, when the pine and the oak out- 
numbered the elms, the Mohegan also loved it well. 

Through this superb cradle of the hilLs, extends, 
on the north side of the river, the noble avenue 
which, with a few fine subsidiary streets, forms 
the old village of story. This avenue is nearly, or 
quite, straight: but the variation in the spacious 
court yards, with their rich shrubbery, and in the 
planting of the great trees, wards off any impression 
of stiffness. The elms, in particular, many of them 
of more than a century's growth, are among the 
mo.st magnificent in New England. Miss Sedgwick, 
in one of her letters, gives the following character- 
istic instance of her remembrance of them on the 
other side of the Atlantic : 

" One of the cultivated women of England said to me, in a 
soothing tone, on my expressing admiration of English trees, 
' Oh, yoa will have such in time, when your forests are cut 
down, and they have room for their limbs to spread.' I 
smiled and was silent ; but, if I saw in vision oar graceful, 
drcx)ping elms, embowering roods of ground, and, as I looked 
at the stiflf, upright English elm, had something of the 



296 TAGUCONIC. 

Pharisaic ' holi<ir than thou ' flit over my mind, I may be 
forgiven." 

Stockbridge Street — I believe that is the re- 
cognized name for this grand avenue — is sprinkled 
all along with spots of historic or romantic interest. 
At its western extremity is the old burial ground 
of the Mission Indians; the scene of Bryant's poem, 
" An Indian at the Burial Place of His Fathers." 
" It is tlie spot 1 came to seek — 

My father's ancient burial place 

Ere from these vales, ashamed and weak. 

Withdrew our wasted race. 

It is the spot — I know it well — 

Of which our old traditions tell. 

For here the upland bank sends out 

A ridge towards the river side ; 

I know the sha<jo:y hills about, 

The meadows smooth and wide — 

The plains tiiat, toward the southern sky. 

Fenced fast and west by mountains, lie. 

A white man, g-zin<i' on the scene, 
Would say a lovely spot was here, 
And praise the lawnK, so fresh and green, 
Between the hills so sheer. 
I like it not — I would the plain 
Lay in it^^ tall old woods ajrain." 
This ancient burial-ground has long been sacred 
from the plow, and now has its proper enclosure and 
monument. A few rods east of it, on the broad 
church green, is the monument erected to Jonathan 
Edwards, who was pastor of the Mission church here, 
from 1751 to 1757: the period in which he wrote his 
most celebrated works. 




STOCKBBIDGE. 297 

The story of this Indian mission — the most suc- 
cessful in New England — is entirely fascinating, 
and is worthy of a volume. Indeed Miss Electa 
F. Jones has compiled an interesting book from 
its records. But I must pass the story with the 
briefest allusion. It was estabfished in 1734 at Great 
Barrington, but was removed in 1735 to Stockbridge 
where the Indians were collected: the whole town- 
ship being granted by the General Court for that 
purpose. 

A very few carefully selected white families were 
admitted to aid in. the civilization and christianizing 
of the neophytes; which the wise managers conceived 
could be most readily accomplished by initiating 
them into the art of agriculture. The Devil — or 
whatever may be his other and true name — well 
understands the godly influence of a farmer's life; 
and why should not they also whose mission and en- 
deavor are to thwart him in his wiles. I hope you 
recollect how, a great way back in the history of 
our family, Satan, in the likeness of a serpent, set 
about the seduction of grand-father Adam by dis- 
gusting him with his excellent situation as a gardener, 
and putting it into his silly head that he could shine 
in one of the learned professions, or perhaps all: and 
again, how the same cunning tempter, under the name 
and style of Mephistophiles, played the deuce with 
poor, vain Faust's virtue by persuading him that a 
farmer's life would be degrading to a man of his 
spirit and genius. The founders of the Stockbridge 
mission showed that they had the scriptural com- 



298 TAGHCONIC. 

bination of the serpent's wisdom and the dove's inno- 
cence when they employed the plow, as one of the 
weapons of their warfare against Hobomoko; whom 
I take to be the same old Diabolus under an abori- 
ginal alias. The white families who were sent out 
on picket in this semi-spiritual warfare did their 
duty faithfully, and the mixed red and white church 
which resulted was harmonious and healthful, be- 
sides being strikingly picturesque. But the excep- 
tional success of the Stockbridge mission was without 
dispute, due to its first pastor, the Rev. John Ser- 
geant, who evinced as wonderful -capacity for that 
work as his successor did for metaphysics. The 
mixed church flourished until 1785, when the Indians 
accepted a new home among the Oneidas of New 
York: the separation seeming best for both colors. 
We will not pry too curiously into the ultimate 
cause of that voluntary exile; but the tribe has twice 
since migrated from state to state — flying from the 
vices or driven by the cupidity of the race which 
gave them their religion — and are now in Minnesota, 
a moral and intelligent community, but mysteriously 
unworthy of American citizenship. 

To return to their metaphysical pastor, Rev. Jona- 
than Edwards: who was installed August 9, 1751; 
got cleverly at work just one year later on his long 
contemplated "Treatise on the Freedom of the 
Will;" in nine months nearly finished the rough 
draught of what he originally intended; completed 
the work before April, 1753, and published it in 
175-1. From July, 1754, to January, 1755, he was 



JONATHAN EDWARDS. 299 

incapacited by the chills and fever incident to all 
new lands, but long since banished from Berkshire. 
Between the spring of 1755 and the fall of 1757, be- 
sides smaller works, he finished his two essays upon 
" God's end in Creation " and " the Nature of 
Virtue." The biographers say that he gave to these 
labors, the leisure left him by his pastoral duties: 
one would rather infer from the amount of hia 
literary work, that he gave to those duties the leisure 
left him by his pen; and the steady declension of 
the mission would tend to the same conclusion. But 
his correspondence shows that he was " in labors 
abundant" for the good of his flock; and the decline 
of religion among them must be traced to other 
causes than absolute neglect, although the great 
author could hardly have been so absorbed in the 
interests of the mission as the simple pastor had been. 
People often talk also of the profound quiet and 
seclusion in the midst of which President Edwards 
was able to compose his subtile and recondite 
works. They must have conceived that notion, 
some dreamy summer afternoon, to the lulling music 
of rippling fountains and rustling foliage, and after 
listening perhaps to a less rugged sermon than the 
mighty Calvinist was wont to preach: there was 
no room for it in the Stockbridge of 1753-7. The 
year 1752, following the deceitful peace of Aix-la- 
Chapelle, was indeed a season of some quiet on the 
border, and the new pastor seems to have used it to 
get settled to his work. After that, came troublous 
times. From Stockbridge northward to the haunts 



300 TAGHCONIC. 

of the fierce and hostile savages of Canada, the 
forest was broken only by Fort Massachusetts and 
the soon-interrupted settlements of Lanesboro' and 
Pittsfield. The Mission Indians were restless, and 
in the spring of "1753, the homicide of one Wam- 
paum corse by white men, whom they thought in- 
sutticiently punished, roused to fury the still savage 
passions of the young sannaps. The emissaries of 
the French and the Canadian Indians took advan- 
tage of the ferment. Plots and suspicions of plots, 
for the destruction of the town, followed. Horrible 
orgies, stimulated by large supplies of rum from 
Kinderhook, were kept up for days in the woods 
west of the village, for the purpose of further in- 
flaming the rage of the young red-men. The pastor, 
together with the magistrates, was constantly busy, 
enquiring into the nature and reality of these affairs, 
and, when they were found genuine, in ascertaining 
who and how many, of the native Indians were en- 
gaged in them; and what real or supposed grievances 
had disaffected them: striving in every way to 
sooth the passions and allay the storm which had 
been raised with sedulous cunning. At the same 
time Mr, Edwards, by letter after letter, piteously 
implored the Provincial government to come to the 
relief of the frontier by a commission of such im- 
posing character that it would salve the wounded 
pride of the Indians, and also with money, after the 
aboriginal custom, to wash out the stain of blood. 

He succeeded at last. But quiet had hardly de- 
scended once more upon the tx'oubled valley when, 



JONATHAN EDWARDS. 301 

one August evening in 1754, two Mohegans who 
had been out on a hunting excursion came flying 
home with the startling report of burning and 
massacre they had seen at Dutch Hoosac which 
had been utterly destroyed by five hundred Cana- 
dian Indians, who were doubtless bent southward on 
the same bloody errand. All was consternation ; mes- 
sengers were sent northward to call in the exposed 
settlers at Pittsiield and Lanesboro' — southward 
and eastward, to summon aid: everywhere to alarm 
the country. This was on Thursday, the 29th of 
August, and by Saturday night the town was full of 
armed men. Still, on Sunday afternoon, the fugi- 
tives who came in from Pittsfield, on horses sent 
from Connecticut to bring them off, reported that 
the woods were full of the enemy, who repeatedly 
fired upon them, killing one man while the woman 
on the pillion behind him barely escaped by the aid 
of the only settler in Lenox. What was worse, 
they had picked up on the hill above Stockbridge 
village a fatally wounded child, and on investiga- 
tion had discovered that, while the people of the 
tOAvn were mostly ac church, two Indians had en- 
tered the house of one Chamberlain, killed a hired 
man named Owen, who stoutly resisted them, dashed 
out the brains of one child, and left another with 
its head cleft by a tomahawk, near the roadside, 
where it was picked up. 

The terror which ensued all along the border was 
pitiable beyond description, and it was months 

before it was allayed. The veteran Colonel, Israel 
26 



302 TAGHCONIC. 

Williams, declared he had never known its equal. 
The large body of the enemy which destroyed 
Hoosac proceeded no further south; which raised 
the grave suspicion that the murders in Berkshire 
were the work of resident Indians. The report that 
they were the guilty parties spread all over the 
Province, and in New York, till it became the duty of 
their mission-pastor to sift the evidence and learn 
the truth. He did so, and satisfied of their innocence 
manfully become their warm defender; which — 
in the excited state of popular prejudice outside 
of Berkshire, and among the soldiers sent thither — 
was no easy or brief task. But he gave himself 
to it, and was also the helpful assistant of the civil 
and military authorities as long as he remained in 
Stockb ridge; for during all that time it was on a 
more or less threatened frontier of a province which 
was constantly sending through it troops for the 
war in New York and Canada. 

Such was the secluded leisure and the peaceful 
quiet which favored the composition of the Treatise 
on the Will, and other great works of Jonathan 
Edwards. I think that, if -we look the grand cata- 
logue carefully over, we shall find a considerable 
number of illustrious books which were written 
without much aid from ease, leisure, quiet seclusion, 
intellectual appliances or literary companionship. 

The missionary, Sergeant, first lived in a house 
which still stands upon "The Hill;" but, befoi'e his 
death, he built another .in the village, which was 
purchased by his successor, and is one of the mem- 



JONATHAN EDWARDS. 303 

orable points upon Stockbridge street, through which 
we are making such slow progress. It is now the 
property of a classical and philosophical German 
gentleman, whose dreams are probably not badly 
disturbed by belief in the calvinistic dogmas of its 
original owner. Still the house is scrupulously 
preserved in its pristine condition, and you can 
still, if you are not very portly, sit in the little 
closet, about six feet square, which President 
Edwards called his " study," and in which he did 
such gigantic intellectual work. It would be scarcely 
ample for the easy chair and commodious desk 
which modern students require; and the walls 
would only hold the scantiest of libraries — so far 
as number of volumes go. 

You may even perhaps sleep in the chamber, 
where, in the wakeful midnight hours which must 
often have been his, the most severe, as well as the 
most subtile, of metaphysicians must have shuddered 
under the contemplation of his own terrible reason- 
ing, with its awful logical results. For my own 
part, his doctrines gave me too many cruel hours in 
mj^ boyhood, for me to desire ever again to come 
under their dreadful shadow, even in dreams; but, 
if you like, and have strong nerves, you may sleep 
comfortably in the mighty reasoner's bedroom: for 
his home is now but a summer hotel. 

On the pleasant church green, between the Indian 
burial place and the Edwards Homestead, is the site 
where stood the plain meeting house in which the mis- 



804 TAGHCONIC. 

sionary, Sergeant, first preached the gospel to his 
parti-colored flock. A handsome tower, surmounted 
by a chime of fine bells — given to the town by Hon. 
David Dudley Field in 1878 — marks the site. And, as 
their silvery music rings out daily among the echoing 
hills, it marks also time's changes since the huge 
East Indian conch-shell, the gift of the pious people 
of Boston to the mission, and blown by stout David 
Nau-nau-nce-ka-nuk in tones which " resounded from 
center to circumference of the town," summoned the 
■white man and the red, to worship their common 
Creator in one rude but sufficient temple. 

Passing, without comment, some interesting his- 
toric localities, and also the handsome marble 
library building among whose treasures some rich 
relics of the old times are preserved, we come to 
bold, beautiful, half rock, half grass-clad, oak- 
crowned, laurel- wreathed Laurel Hill; upon whose 
Bouthern verge we shall find the " Sacrifice Rock." 
Miss Sedgwick thus described both hill and rock in 
" Hope Leslie." where she first introduced them to 
fame. 

"They [the chief Mononotto, his prisoner, daughter, and 
Wiirriors] had entered the expanded vale by following the 
•windings of the Housatonic around a hill, conical and easy of 
ascent, except on the side which overlooked tlie river, where 
halfway from tlie base to the summit, it rose, a perpendicu- 
lar rock, In aring on its beetling front the age of centuries. 
On every side the hill was garlanded with laurels, now in full 
and profuse bloom, here and there surmounted by an in- 
tervening pine, spruce or hemlock, whose seared winter 
foliage wa,= fringed with the bright, tender sprouts of spring." 



JONATIIASr EDWAED8. 305 

For the story which attaches to the spot, you 
must look in Miss Sedgwick's enchanting novel. 
The hill, on which the oak is now, if not the most 
abounding, the most conspicuous, tree, was given by 
the Sedgwick family, many years ago, to the 
Laurel Hill Association, to be forever preserved as 
a public resort. This famous institution — which 
holds a place among village improvement societies 
like tliat which the Berkshire Agricultural does in 
in its OAvn class of organizations — owes its existence 
to this gift, and it has not only managed the dona- 
tion with rare good taste; but has been a chief in- 
strument in making the village of Stockbridge the 
perfect thing it is. 

Every year the Association here celebrates its anni 
versary, with many true, pleasant, and often brilliant^ 
words, both of eloquence and poetry. But it seems 
to me that the grandest gathering the old hill ever 
saw, was when, after the laying of the first Atlantic 
cable, the people of Berkshire assembled by thou- 
sands to welcome Cyrus W. Field back in triumph 
to his native town, and the home of his leisure. 
That looked to me like a triumph worth having; 
and I still seem to hear the massive sentences — 
amid whose rugged strength, poetic beauty bloomed 
like Alpine roses — with which the venerable Presi- 
dent Hopkins, Mr. Field's fellow-townsman by birth,, 
congratulated him upon an achievement which he 
classed, in character and magnitude, with that of 
" the world seeking rienocse.'* 



806 TAGHCONIC. 

The stranger who comes to Stockbridge to dream 
away some slumberous summer hours, and finds it 
excellently well adapted to that purpose, may fancy 
that he has come into that land 

" In which it seemed always afternoon, 
Around whose coast t\m lan<rui(i air did swoon." 

But the insight of a little familiarity with the 
place will teach him better than that. The repose 
of Stockbridge is the repose of caste, not of lymphatic 
vulgarity. Its luxurious leisure, so indolently but 
refreshingly enjoyed, is for the most part either a 
lasting peace conquered in the hottest life-battle, or 
the interval of needful rest between two periods of 
hard work — and probably of hard knocks as well. 
Frequently it is more even than that; it is a season 
.of quiet preparation: the pause of the lion before 
the leap; nay, it is the silence before the thunder- 
peal — they have been forging thunder-bolts here, 
from the troubled era when Jonathan Edwards 
hurled his lurid theology upon the world, down to 
this present peaceful summer of — whom and what, 
you will learn if you read carefully the New York 
dailies of next winter. 

They have a "Laura's Rest," herein Stockbridge: 
it is far up a mountain steep. Had it been in Italy, 
now, they would have placed it in some fountain- 
lulled, luxurious vale, into which the languid maiden 
could have lounged listlessly to her siesta. But 
Stockbridge Lauras must climb before they rest. 
Is not that the moral of it ? 

The repose of Stockbridge is the repose of caste. 



JONATHAN EDWARDS. 307 

The same air of quiet, well-bred, refined enjoyment, 
and of modest, well-bred pride, invests both the 
place and its people. Of the class of cottages in 
which it becomes cultivated people of moderate 
tastes to dwell, Mr. Ruskin says, that in them " we 
naturally look for an elevation of character, a richness 
of design and form, which, while the building is kept 
a cottage, may yet give it an air of cottage aris- 
tocracy." We might paraphrase this instruction for 
application to the class of villages to which Stock- 
bridge belongs. They must be kept villages: to make 
anything else of them would be to take away their 
charms. But they must retain also their air of village 
aristocracy : a widely different thing — be it noted — 
from the aristocracy of a village. This quiet dignity 
has been well maintained in the building up of old 
Stockbridge, both on the plain and on the hills. 

The influence which gives tone to society here is 
that of the old South-Berkshire Federal gentry, 
which has come down in much perfection of spirit in 
spite of the constant influx of city folk. I do not say 
that there have not been vast changes in manners 
and in personnel, as well as in habits of thought, 
since gentlemen went staidly about Stockbridge 
street in cocked hats, knee-breeches and silk stock- 
ings; and ladies, who called their hoop-skirts far- 
thingales, played " Washington's March " upon 
London-made Clementi pianos, that sounded like a 
modern music-box. But the spirit of the old social 
life and the old breeding — together with very much 



308 TAGHCONIC. 

of the old blood — still survives. Whatever modi- 
fication it has received has come to it, not from any 
absolutely extraneous source, but from those circles 
of New York society which originally were chiefly 
made up of, or took their color from, men and women, 
who went to them from Stockbridge, Great Barring- 
ton, Sheffield and Lenox : the Sedgwicks, the 
Dwights, the Fields, the Bryants, the Deweys and 
others of like character. Stockbridge society, as it 
now is, may have been passed, for its refinement, 
through a metropolitan crucible; but, if so, it was at 
l«ast one of its own making, and its own firing. 
Undoubtedly both Stockbridge and Lenox have at- 
tractions peculiar to themselves, in their locations 
and scenery: but quite as certainly the great mass 
of the hundreds who resort to them every summer 
are governed in their preference by social considera- 
tions. In the case of Stockbridge, there is super- 
added in many instances the love and pride of suc- 
cessful descendants of the old village families, who 
return to the home of their fathers, to enjoy and 
adorn it; while acquaintanceship, and kindred tastes, 
draw after them many to whom life here may prove 
as familiar as the landscape is strange. 

And this brings me back to another historic spot 
on historic old Stockbridge street: the mansion in 
which was born, and where lived and wrote, one 
whose pen has done more to render Berkshire soil 
storied and classic ground than even Bryant's; and 
the chai'Tn of whose presence has drawn here more 
men ;uul women of rare mind and character than 



1 



CATHERINE SEDGWICK. 809 

have come under any other personal influence: 
Catherine Maria Sedgwick. 

Miss Sedgwick was born here in 1786. Her 
father, Theodore Sedgwick, served with credit in 
the Revolutionary war, and won the warm friend- 
ship of Gen. Schuyler with whom he had many 
points in common. He was the leader of the Federal 
party in Western Massachusetts, which made him 
the first representative in Congress from Berkshire, 
the first United States Senator from Western Massa- 
chusetts, and a Judge of the Supreme Court of the 
Commonwealth, iu which office he died while attend- 
ing court at Boston in 1813. He was a man of 
much self-assertion; and in that queer piece of 
portraiture, " The Mirror of the Berkshire Bar in 
1799," is dashed off as "Duke Ego the Bully." 
In the " Shays Rebellion " he was a leader against 
the insurgents who handled him roughly and 
pillaged his house. He had an intense dread of 
popular rule, and held that a Jeffersonian Democrat 
was of necessity an enemy of the country. He con- 
ceived that there was a great gulf between him and 
the people; yet, in such personal relations as he had 
with them, he was benignant and kind. His family 
affections were of the warmest and most tender con- 
ceivable: a peculiarity which was inherited by all his 
children, and especially by Catherine. All his sons 
nevertheless became Democrats, although of the 
anti-slavery type. His abilities as a statesman, 
although the admiration of his household and his 
party, do not appear to have been more than re 



810 TAGHCONIC. 

spectable, and were exceeded by those of at least 
one of his sons — the second Theodore — who, if he 
did not, as is probable, first conceive the idea of a 
railroad across the forbidding hills of Berkshire, was 
at least its ablest early advocate. 

Miss Sedgwick's mother was a daughter ef Briga- 
dier Gengral Joseph Dwight, who won distinction 
as commander of the artillery at the siege of Louis- 
burg, and afterwards settled at Stockbridge, as the 
trustee of the Mission School. When the county of 
Berkshire was established in 1761, he became its 
first chief justice of the Common Pleas, and was 
thus the head of the provincial magistracy as well as 
the military officer of the highest rank in Western 
Massachusetts; so that, when his daughter married 
young Esquire Sedgwick, she was her husband's 
superior in social rank, as well by these considera- 
tions as perhaps by family conuecLion otherwise; 
just as Miss Abigail Smith as bride outranked the 
young lawyer, John Adams, as bridegroom. Lawyers 
did not stand very high joer se in the social scale of 
Provincial times. It required office to lift them. 

The Sedgwick family was harmonious and united, 
and the strong ties of affection and esteem between 
its members were among the chief influences in form- 
ing Catherine's character, and shaping her life. 
Many of her intense likings and antipathies — not 
to say loves and hatreds — were based upon the rela- 
tions of men and things to her brothers or sisters: 
although it is true that her fine capacity for righteous 
indignation, and a happy faculty for appreciating 



CATHERINE SEDGWICK. 311 

the noble in character and intellect, and the right in 
morals, generally prevailed in matters of high con- 
Bideration. And if she exceeded measure in her 
praises of what she admired, or in her denunciations 
of that which she condemned, that is not without 
precedent or apology. Miss Sedgwick was a liberal 
of the liberals; and I think you will remark, if 
you observe closely, that, so far as words go, there 
is no intolerance so unsparing as that of liberalism, 
in whatever department of life or morals it may 
profess itself. 

I do not, however, purpose to discuss Miss Sedg- 
wick's life or character at large. All this is merely 
passim : being suggested by hearing, the other day, 
that " they are getting tired of Sedgwick-worship at 
Stockbridge " — which I apprehend can be true only 
as to a limited circle: and as to that, I trust, only 
refers to disgust with over-weaning and exclusive 
consideration, and not to the withholding of high, 
grateful and perpetual regard from one to whom it 
is grandly due from all Berkshire: one to whom, at 
the great Berkshire Jubilee, there was aptly applied 
th.3 scriptural commendation : " Many daughters 
have done virtuously; but thou excellest them all ! " 

Catherine Sedgwick was a thoroughly Berkshire 
woman. Her many virtues, her few foibles, were 
all of an intensely Berkshire type; although their 
manifestation was sometimes in novel direction^; as 
when she revolted against Calvinism with the same 
boldness and vigor which her Calvinistic ancestry 
c-viiilDited in their revolt against popery. She loved 



312 TAGHOONIC. 

the mountain county with all her heart — loved ita 
soil, its scenery, its people; and sought its welfare 
untiringly. What she has done for its fame, all the 
world knows; but what she did to make it better 
worthy of fame is not so often told. Yet the good 
she effected in mollifying the harsher characteristics 
of its people, in softening the asperities of their lives 
and opinions, in doing away uncouthness of manner, 
in implanting or extending esthetic tastes, and in 
similar gentle missions, is beyond estimate. 

She resented bitterly the coarse exaggerations of 
Mrs. Trollope, and the impertinent criticisms of 
Basil Hall regarding Berkshire and American life; 
but she knew precisely to what extent they were 
founded in fact, and she did what her pen could to 
remove that foundation. And her success was gi'eat: 
one instance may illustrate it. Mrs. Trollope de- 
clared that all the bigotry in America was concen- 
trated upon the Berkshire Hills, There can be no 
doubt that she found a great deal of it here. But 
there is as little doubt that it was reasonably miti- 
gated when Dr. Ohanning, the great apostle of 
Unitarian ism in America, was able in 1842 to de- 
liver his last public discourse in the Othodox Con- 
gregational church at Lenox, and when an eloquent 
eulogium upon his life and character, written by Miss 
Sedgwick, was received with profound feeling and 
universal approval by the great throng of Berkshire 
people at the Jubilee of 1844. Another incident of 
the same occasion shows how the clouds of bigotry 
were at that very time lifting from these hills. 



CATHERINE SEDGWICK. 313 

Macready, the tragedian, recited, at the table, 
Leigh Hunt's well known poem, "Abou Ben 
Adhem," to express his reciprocity of the feeling 
which invited him, an Englishman, to participation 
in this peculiarly local festival. And the committee, 
of which orthodox Dr. Todd of Pittsfield was chair- 
man, did not hesitate to insert it in the printed 
record of the occasion, in spite of numerous protests 
against so doing on the ground that the poem 
placed love of man before love of God. A good 
illustration, that, both of what had been, and what 
was passing away. And in causing it to pass away. 
Miss Sedgwick's writings had a large share. 

So, in other directions, was her influence greatly 
felt in making the life of Berkshire more genial, as 
well as in developing the spirit of its natural beau- 
ties. The local popularity of her writings inspired a 
more general taste for elegant literature, and asso- 
ciated it with Avhat every day met the eye and the 
ear. At a later period came her more direct teach- 
ings of the good and beautiful in what are termed the 
practical virtues. But in the interval she cultivated, 
for her people, by precept, by illustration, by con- 
spicuous example — by indirect as well as by direct 
induction — a love for all that is graceful in life. 

The home of such a woman is. a spot to attract 
the feet of all who love what she loved and taught 
BO well. It stands — a plain, square, brown, old 
fashioned mansion — "somewhat back from the 
village street," in the center of broad, level, elm- 
2'7 



314 TAGHCONIC. 

shaded grounds. An old green-house — the first, I 
believe, in Berkshire — is seen in the court yard; 
and reminds us that, among Miss Sedgwick's mani- 
fold services to this region, was the introduction of 
new varieties of flowering plants and stimulating 
the taste for floriculture in many ways. Some of 
the flowers and shrubs planted by the hand which 
wrote Hope Leslie were growing rank, and seem- 
ingly wild, in the old garden in the rear of the 
homestead, when I, with a field-meeting party, last 
visited it. 

Behind the mansion, with a broad strip of rich 
meadow between, winds the blue Housatonic — at 
this point some six rods wide. If you cast your 
eye westward, up the river, as you pass it on the 
Housatonic railroad, you will get a full view of the 
old place, and, if it be in summer, in one of its 
pleasantest aspects. 

Here Miss Sedgwick passed her youth and the 
summers of her early womanhood; and under that 
roof were written Hope Leslie and her other tales of 
peculiarly local interest. By and bye we will follow 
her to Lenox. But first we will visit two or three 
of the spots to which she gave name and fame. 

With the exception of Monument Mountain there 
is no locality in the vicinity of Stockbridge so widely 
known as 

Icy Glen. 

I had long impatiently anticipated a visit to this 
celebrated ravine, before I was able to gratify my 



ICY GLEN; 315 

longing: and now that I have repeated my explora- 
tion more than once, I almost as impatiently wait 
for the next. It is a deep, narrow gorge cleft 
in what is known as Little Mountain, a considerable 
hill a little south of the river, whose meadow-banks 
here intervene between it and Laurel Hill. The 
roughly-wooded sides of the glen descend abruptly 
to the base of the mountain, w^hich it completely 
penetrates from south to north. The bottom — an 
eighth of a mile long — is everywhere thickly cum- 
bered by enormous boulders and the great trunks of 
fallen trees ; all mossy and slippery, all piled in huge 
and wild confusion, so as to leave great cavernous 
recesses, and an often impeded passage for a bi-awling 
brook. 

The air is dank, the shade gloomy and the clam- 
bering arduous; so that, while attrac'tive to the point 
of fascination for an occasional visit, the gorge is 
not a place to invite loitering. But when — after 
tumbling and stumbling, climbing and sliding, over 
and under, and among, these devil's playthings of 
rocks, for a mortal hour — one emerges, just at sunset, 
upon the mellow rui'al scene without, he is prepared 
to welcome ecstatically the smiling landscape. 

The glen sometimes presents a scene of gi'otesquely 
picturesque delight; when some hundreds of people 
with flaming torches and pealing music — and many 
of them in fantastic costumes — traverse the ravine 
at night in such broken procession as, over that 
crazy pathway, they can. In that chasm of imper- 
vious shade, it matters little what the moon and 



316 TAGHOONTC. 

Stars may be doing on their far away rounds: the 
red glare of the torches flashes from the rugged 
surface of the rocks to the fair faces of the ladies — 
ncAOr so fair as in such fitful radiance — and if, in 
the uncertain light, some light foot shall slip, the 
little shriek which announces the disaster, has an 
invariable echo of silvery laughter. I remember 
well, one night, when our sole music was merry shouts 
and ringing laughter, how the mad glen re-echoed 
with a thousand Babelish discordances, until our 
senses were almost dazed when we came out into 
the moonlight that rested upon the dewy meadow 
and mist-wreathed river. 

It was a queer looking crowd we were: the gilt 
paper rent from the cambric-clad cavaliers and their 
glittering tin spear-heads bent with frequent service 
as climbing staffs; the spangled fairies in still more 
dismal plight; the phantoms with their ghastly 
robes in tatters; and all sorts of all possible and im- 
possible characters in sore disorder. 

Yet each and all could sootbly swear, 
No merrier troop ere rambled tliere. 

There are four lakes in the township of Stock- 
bridge, but at some little distance from the village: 
Mahkeenac, Averic, Mohawk and Agawam. All are 
very lovely; but we will, for the present, confine 
ourselves to that which they now call Mahkeenac, 
on the authority of an old Indian who came back 
from the west some years ago to insist that this was 
its Mohegan name: meaning The Great Water. But 



STOCKBRIDGE BOWL. 317 

as Mahkeenac won't work into poetry, nor very well 
into prose, and as our Indian friend did not seem to 
be perfect in the grammar of his own language, I 
prefer the designation given by Miss Sedgwick: 

The Stockbridge Bowl. 

This lake, which lies on the road between Lenox 
and Stockbridge, one of the most charming in the 
whole county — is a mile and a half long, and by 
many is thought to be the most beautiful sheet of 
water in Massachusetts. I have intimated a mo- 
derate dissent from that opinion; but however it 
may be as to that, there can be no doubt that it is 
the most famous. Celebrated by the loving pens 
of Miss Sedgwick and Mrs. Sigourney, it has long 
had associations which our northern lakes lack. 

And, later, another and higher honor, has fallen to 
it: in that on its northern shore, Nathaniel Hawthorne 
lived, while he wrote the " House of the Seven 
Gables," and the " Blithedale Romance." His home 
was a little red, scantily furnished cottage, loaned 
him by an admirer. Notwithstanding the success 
of the Scarlet Letter, his pecuniary means were still 
slender; but I suspect that the years passed here 
were among the happiest of his life. I am told that 
he honored the mountain and the lake with far more 
of his attention than he bestowed upon his other 
neighbors. Herman Melville, at Pittsfield, Mr. W. 
A. Tappan at Lenox, and J. P. R. James, the Eng- 
lish novelist, who then resided at Stockbridge, were 
among his friends; but, for the most part, he lived 



318 ■ TAGHCOIs'IC. 

in great seclusion. One is not much surprised to 
learn that the creator of Hester Prynne, and Little 
Pearl, Zenobia and the Pynchons, did not find his 
highest pleasure in the chit-chat of fashionable circles, 
or even in literary coteries. Nor need it surprise us 
that a touch of melancholy, or even at times seem- 
ing moroseness, tinged his manner. The knowledge 
of the soul's anatomist is that which " by suffering 
entereth in." 

But that Mr. Hawthorne's heart was warm and 
tender, I am well assured by more than one circum- 
stance, which I do not know that I am at liberty to 
recall here. But there can be no wrong in men- 
tioning the origin, as I have heard it, of the brotherly 
friendship which existed between him and Herman 
Melville. As the story was told to me, INIr. Haw- 
thorne was aware that Melville was the author of a 
very appreciative review of the Scarlet Letter, which 
appeared in the Literary World, edited by their 
common friends, the Duyckincks; but this very 
knowledge, pei'haps, kept two very sensitive men 
shy of each other, although thrown into company. 
But one day it chanced that.Avhen they were out on 
a pic-nic excursion, the two were compelled by a 
thunder-shower to take shelter in a narrow recess of 
the rocks of Monument Mountain. Two hours of 
this enforced intercourse settled the matter. They 
learned so much of each other's character, and found 
that they held so much of thought, feeling and 
opinion in common, that the most intimate friendship 
for the future was inevitable. 



sTocKiiKim. i; liowL. 319 

I have heard of another odd interview with Haw- 
thorne. A lady from a distant state had expressed 
an intense desire to meet the great author, and it 
was arranged that her wish should be gratified at a 
Pittsfield dinner table; she not at all anticipating 
that he would know her feeling. But it seems that 
some friend, with a turn for teasing, apprised him 
of it; and as they were sitting down at the board 
opposite to each other, an expressive glance from 
the tell-tale made known to the lady that her secret 
had been exposed. The result was that two pairs 
of remarkably fine eyes were very unquiet and that 
two uneasy people had their dinners spoiled. But 
I dare say that the appearance of the wine restored 
ease. 

They are beginning to appreciate the honor con- 
ferred upon the county by Mr, Hawthorne's residence 
in it; and now have treasured up in the historical 
museum of the Athenaeum at Pittsfield, the desk 
upon which he wrote the House of the Seven Gables, 
The Blithedale Romance, and probably other works. 
It is a plain, solid, handsome piece of mahagony 
furniture, with an abundance of drawers, and seems 
exceedingly well adapted to novelist's work. It has 
a host of visitors. 

But we have been drawn far away from Stock- 
bridge and its lakes. Let us return, and sing in the 
praise of Mahkeenac, if you still insist upon calling 
it by the name which appears upon the map, the 
verses composed in its honor by Mrs. Lydia H 
Sigourney, and read at the Berkshire Jubilee: 



820 TAGHCO/nO. 

The Stockbridgb Bowl. 

The Stockbridge Bowl ! Hast ever seen 

How sweetly pure and bright, 
Its foot of stone and rim of green 

Attract the traveller's sight ? 
High set among the breezy hills 

Where spotless marble glows, 
It takes the tribute of the rills 

Distilled from mountain snows. 

You've seen, perchance, the classic vaae 

At Adrian's villa found. 
The grape-vines that its handles chasa 

And twine its rim around. 
But thousands such as that which boasts 

The Roman's name to keep, 
Might in this Stockbridge bowl be lost 

Like pebbles in the deep. 

It yields no sparkling draughts of fire 

To mock the raadden'd brain, 
As that which warmed Anacreon's lyre 

Amid the Tei m plain — 
But freely, witii a right good will 

Imparts its fountain store. 
Whose heaven replenished crystal still 

Can wearied toil restore. 

The Indian hunter knew its power. 

And oft its praises spoke. 
Long ere the white man's stranger plow 

These western vail ys broke. 
The panting deer that, wild with pain, 

From his pursuers stole, 
Inhaled new life to every vein 

From this same Stockbridge bowl. 



STOCKBRIDGE BOWL. 321 

And many a son of Berkshire skies. 

Those men of noble birth. 
Though now perchance their roof may rl86 

In far or foreign earth, 
Shall on this well-remembered vase 

With thrilling bosom gaze, 
And o'er its mirrored surface trace 

The joys of earlier days. 

But one that with a spirit glance 

That moved her country's heart, 
And ba le from dim oblivious trance 

Poor Magawaska start, 
Hath won a fame whose blossoms rare 

Shall fear no blighting sky, 
"Whose lustrous leaf be fresh and fair 

When Stockbridge Bowl is dry. 



xxn. 

MAHAIWE. 

' Here 1 have scaped the city's stifling heat, 
Its horrid sounds and itspolluied air; 

And, where the season's milder fervors beat, 
And gales, that sweep the forest-borders, bear 

The song of bird and sound of running stream. 
Am come awhile to wander and to dream. 

Ay, flame thy fiercest, sun 1 thou canst not wake. 
In this pure air, the plague that walks unseen. 

The maize-leaf and the maple bough but take, 
From thy strong ..eats, a deeper, glossier green. 

The mountain wind, that faints not in thy ray. 
Sweeps the blue steams of pestilence away." — 

Bryant. 



I think I will escort you, this brilliant morning, 
to a region worthy of the goldenest sunlight that 
ever came from Heaven's alchemy — down that 
Washington Street of railroads, the tortuous Housa- 
tonic, to Great Barrington, the greatly beautiful 
early home and foster-mother of Bryant's genius. 

Henry AVard Beecher extols without measure the 
scenery which borders the Housatonic railroad, 
particularly between Bridgeport and Lenox — being 
careful to exclude from his commendation the little 



MAUAIWE. 323 

four miles above what was his home. And it is worthy 
of ecstatic admiration. Still I think it clearly sur- 
passed by that through which the Boston and Albany 
road passes between the Connecticut and Hudson 
rivers; especially in the magnificent gorges between 
Chester and Washington, I know of no route, rail 
or highway, which excels this; except possibly the 
famous old Stage road over the Hoosac Mountain 
between Deerfield and Noi'th Adams; the same 
which filled Henry Clay with such amazed delight, 
when he passed over it fifty years ago on his visit 
to Berkshire and his friend Henry Shaw. 

Between Pittsfield and Westfield, the Boston and 
Albany Railroad follow^ substantially the old Indian 
trail — Unkamet's Path. Early surveyors and gov- 
ernment messengers made great use of it; and 
tradition asserts that one or two adventurous and 
spirited women travei'sed it. The faithful old guide, 
from Avhom it took its name, lived near the railroad 
crossing of the east branch of the Housatonic river 
in Pittsfield, and has left it also attached to a brook 
and a meadow in that vicinity, where a street has 
also received the same designation. 

But the Boston and Albany railroad will never 
take us to Great Barrington. We might, however, 
drive thither — twenty-one miles — through Lenox 
and Stockbridge. If we did so we should find 
scenery rivalling that on either of the routes which 
I have mentioned, here or elsewhere. It is certainly 
richer in the tokens of wealth, as well as in his- 
torical and personal associations. A host of notable 



324 TAGHCONIO. 

critics firmly hold that it is easily first of all in 
Berkshire. But, that we may sooner reach Great 
Barrington, where we shall find natural beauty to 
satiety, we will adhere to our purpose of going by 
the Housatonic railroad, which, for its many ex- 
cellencies, is a sort of pet, here. 

We might, however, pause a long while, on our 
way, at the fine town of Lee, the widely famed seat 
of the paper manufacture, and also of the great 
quarries of white marble from which the grand ex- 
tension of the Capitol at "Washington was built, as 
well as many other noted structures. The marble 
of Berkshire extends through the whole length of 
the county, and some of it, particularly that of Lee, 
Sheffield, North Adams, and West Stockbridge, is in 
the highest repute as building-stone. The remarka- 
ble dark blue compact limestone of Great Barrington, 
of which the uniquely beautiful Athenseum at 
Pittsfield is built, is not properly a marble. You 
may see it in place at Mount Petra, whose picturesque 
little rocky knoll, near the main street of Great 
Barrington, Dr. Clarkson T. Collins has set apart 
for the pleasure of the public. And a nice place it 
is from which to obtain a view of the grand old 
street and other pleasant prospects. But we are not 
yet at Great Barrington. 

The^ marble quarries of Lee, interesting to every 
intelligent visitor, afford a most inviting field to the 
mineralogist, although, I believe, the old deposit of 
the much sought bladed tremolite is exhausted. 

Fern Cliff, which holds the place in Lee which 



MAHAIWE. 325 

Laurel Hill does in Stockbridge, is a handsome emi- 
nence near the village. I passed a pleasant May morn- 
ing there once, and gathered a fine collection of large 
and rare mosses. But the pride of Lee's romantic 
scenery is Laurel Lake, a much prized sheet of water, 
nearly a mile long, which lies on the border of 
Lenox, a mile and a half from Lee Park, and at the 
head of a j)recipitous mountain-stream thickly 
gtudded with busy paper-mills. It is proof of the pro- 
fusion of splendid scenery in Berkshire that it is 
only through a recent introduction by the late Rev. 
Dr. Gale, that the merits of this fine lake with its 
pleasant surroundings have obtained general re- 
cognition. It seems not likely now to fall into ne- 
glect again. 

A great deal of the romance of reality might be 
wrought out, not only from the secluded haunts of 
Lee, but from its peculiar material resources and in- 
dustries; and that without any exhaustive brain- 
work. But it occurs to me at this moment that we 
are bound for Great Barrington, where we shall find 
romance ready made, to our hands: and so much of 
it that we must confine ourselves chiefly to that 
which arises from the life and work there of Berk- 
shire's great poet. Berkshire's poet: for if Mr. 
Bryant's birthplace was not in the county of Berk- 
shire, it was on the Berkshire Hills — a region whose 
bounds were fixed by a wiser and mightier power 
than that which defines county lines. It was in a 
Berkshire college that he was educated, so far as such 

minds receive their education from colleges; and it 
28 



326 TAGHCONIC. 

was in one of the loveliest of Berkshire towns that 
he passed his choicest years — those in which some 
of his best work was done, and during which his 
fame became national, or more: the culminating 
years of " a youth sublime." 

I have already quoted from his own account of 
his introduction in 1816 — when he removed to 
Great Barrington — to that fair region with which 
his name was forever to be inseparably connected, 
and over which he has thrown an imperishable charm. 

It cannot be said that the scenery of Southern 
Berkshire inspired Mr. Bryant with that intense love 
of nature which informs the best of his poems. That 
had already been awakened by the scenes among 
which his boyhood was passed, and strengthened by 
the majestic hills and romantic valleys by which 
Williams College is surrounded. These had been 
the nurses of his infant thought, and the tutors of 
his youthful imagination: they, with Shakespeare, 
Spenser and Milton for text-books — nay, with 
Homer and Virgil also. 

But Southern Berkshire furnished the already 
ripened poet of nature with fitting themes in abund- 
ance, and fitting accessories of tradition for his 
faithful portraiture of landscape: the Mohegan at 
the burial place of his father; the maiden of Monu- 
ment Mountain; the murdered traveller of the lonely 
glen between old and West Stockbridge. 

It may be pleasant, as well, for youthful lovers 
who wander under the noble elms which give so 
fine a charm to Great Barrington streets, or on the 



MAHAIWE. 32*? 

willow-shaded brink of the Housatonic, the Green 
river or other of the frequent streams, to remember 
that here was the scene of the poet's wooing; that, 
perhaps under the very branches which over-hang 
them, or on the same verdant bank where they sit 
by the brook-side, William Cullen Bryant first read 
from the manuscript, to her who was afterwards his 
bride, some of those pleasant jjoems they now delight 
to read together there. Does it not, my young 
friends, add to your own joy in so reading Mr. 
Bryant's verses, to think that he may have thus 
read them on this very spot more than fifty years 
ago ? 

During Mr. Bryant's residence in Great Barring- 
ton — from 1816 to 1825 — only a small portion of 
his time, comparatively, was given to letters. He 
took a creditable part in the affairs of the town, of 
which he was clerk from 1820 to 1825. In 1818 he 
delivered the address at the first anniversary of the 
town Bible Society. He was an ardent politician 
of the Federal school, and in the old files of the 
county newspapers, we often find his name as secre- 
tary or committeeman of party meetings. He was 
an active, learned and rather fiery young lawyer, 
with more practice than usually fell to the lot of 
men of his age at that period. He might have be- 
come distinguished, could he have overcome his 
disgust with a profession in which — in his day 
much more than at present — law was not synony- 
mous with justice. Finally he struck upon an ex- 
perience which, if the well supported tradition of 



328 TAGHCONIC. 

the Berkshire bar can be trusted, was so intolerable 
that he relinquished practice altogether. The case — 
" Grotius Bloss vs. Augustus Tobey of Alf ord " is 
recorded in the 2d volume of " Pickering's Reports." 
Mr. Bryant lost his case through a mere technical 
omission in his declaration which did not in the 
slightest obscure its meaning. That his client's 
cause was just, the court admitted practically; Chief 
Justice Parsons prefacing the adverse decision by 
remarking: "It is with great regret, and not with- 
out much labor and research to avoid this result, 
that we are obliged to arrest judgment." 

Mr. Bryant's just indignation against an adminis- 
tration of the law which compelled its servants to 
do acknowledged wrong to those who sought justice 
in its highest state tribunal made him ready to 
seek a more congenial pursuit at the first opportunity. 

The famous first cattle-show of the Berkshire 
Agricultural Society at Pittsfield occurred during 
his junior year in Williams College, and strongly 
impressed his susceptible youth. He continiied the 
warm friend of the institution, and wrote two odes 
for its anniversaries. One, which was sung in 1820, 
is included in his published poems, and commences 
with the lines, 

" Far back in the ages 
The plough with wreaths was crov^ned." 

The second, sung in 1823, seems equally worthy 
of preservation, and is as follows: 

Since last our vales these rites admir'd, 
Another year has come and flown, 



MAHAIWE. 320 

But where her rosy steps retir'd, 
Has left her gifts profusely etrown. 

No killing frost on germ or flower, 

To blast the hopes of spring, was nigh ; 

No wrath condens'd the ceaseless shower, 
Or seal'd the fountains of the sky. 

But kindly suns and gentle rains, 
And liberal dews and tars of health, 

Rear'd the large harvests of the plains. 

And nursed the meadow's fragrant wealth. 

Ab if the indulgent power who laid, 
On man the great command to toil, 

Well-pleased to see that law obeyed, 
Had touched, in love, the teeming soiL 

And here, while autumn wanders pale 

Beneath the fading forest shade, 
Qather'd from many a height and vale. 

The bounties of the year are laid. 

Here toil, whom oft the setting sun 

Has seen at his protracted task, 
Demands the palm his patience won. 

And art has come his wreath to ask. 

Well may the hymn of victory flow. 
And mingle with the voice of mirth. 

While here are spread the spoils that show 
Our triumphs o'er reluctant earth. 

Of the spots in Berkshire to which Bryant's pen 
has given fame, the most noted is Monument Moun- 
tain, which rises near the highway between Great 
Barrington and Stockhridge; being within the for- 
mer town, but considerably nearer to the village in 



330 TAGHCOXIC. 

the latter. No description of it could be more pre- 
cise than that given in Bryant's poem : 

" There is a precipice 
That seems a frajfiueut of some mighty wall, 
Built by the hand that fashioned the old world 
To separate its nations, and thrown down 
When '.he flood drowned them. To the north, a path 
Conducts you up the narrow battlement. 
Steep is the western side, shaggy and wild 
With mossy trees, and pinnacles of flint, 
And many a hanging cr '.g. But, to the east, 
'Sheer to the vale, go down the bare old cliffs. — 
Huge pillars that in middle heaven upbear 
Their weather-beaten capitals, here dark 
With the thick moss of centuries, and tiiere 
Of chalky whiteness where the thunderbolt hath splintered 
them." 

The mountain has an elevation of five hundred feet 
above Stockbridge- Plain, or twelve hundred and 
sixty above the sea level. The cliffs rise perhaps 
four hundred and fifty feet, perpendicularly or a 
little beetling at the top. Their face is slightly 
curved inward and their height gradually decreases 
to the south. At their foot immense jiiles of angular 
flinty fragments, which have fallen in the course of 
ages, are heaped up in confusion; and a detached 
pinnacle, known as the Pulpit Rock, together with 
a few other grotesquely shaped crags, relieve the 
uniformity of the grey old wall. The pulpit is after 
the tall old fashioned type which made the attentive 
congregation look like a crowd at a balloon ascension. 
Cliff and fragment, and isolated crag are all formed 
of compact granular quartz — technically " quart- 



MAHAIWE. 331 

zite " — the same mineral which, further north when 
disintegrated by some process known only to nature, 
becomes the silicious sand of commerce. Rumor of 
this fact had reached the glass-makers, and I Avas 
sent to see what could be made of it: so that my 
first visit to this old poetic mountain was not for the 
most poetic of jDurposes. No matter: it is quite easy 
to weave a little sentiment into any excursion to a 
place like this. 

The precipice extends northward to about the 
middle of the mountain, where it disappears, al- 
though tlie hillside continues very abrupt. The 
geological character of the rock also changes, if my 
slight observations were correct, to mica-schist. At 
the junction rises the path mentioned in the poem, 
and by which I reached the summit. In its track, 
I found some pretty crystals of black tourmaline. 
Climbing thi^ ascent, which is quite difficult enough 
to give a zest to it, I bent my head dizzily over the 
abyss. 

' ' It is a fearful thing 
To stand upon the beetling verge, and see 
Where storm and lightning, from that huge gray wall. 
Have tumbled down vast blocks, and at the base 
Dashed them in fragments ; and to lay thine ear 
Over the dizzy depth, and hear the sound 
Of winds, that struggle with the woods below. 
Come up like ocean murmurs." 

The summit commands a noble prospect : 

" The scene 
Is lovely round ; a beautiful river there 
Wanders amid the fresh and fertile meads. 



832 TAGHCONIC. 

The paradise he made unto himself. 

Mining the soil for ages. On each side 

The fields swell upward to the hills ; beyond. 

Above the hills, in the blue distance, rise 

The mighty columns with which earth props heaven." 

The scene is fair to look upon, but I confess, that, 
after the mountain and its immediate surroundings, 
I was most interested in peering down to its base at 
a black speck, which my guide assured me was G. 
P. R. James, the novelist, who then thought of 
building a residence there, and was at that moment 
engaged in investigations as to the probabilities of 
clarifying a muddy pond. When I used, in school- 
time, to steal the moments due to drier studies to 
peruse, in the old " National Reader," the poem of 
Monument Mountain, with 

" Its sad tradition of unhappy love, 
And sorrows borne and ended long ago," 

I little dreamed that I should ever stand at its base 
in the glorious light of a Berkshire morning to com- 
pute the marketable value of its "bare old cliffs;" 
and quite as little that I should look down from its 
summit upon the wizard — a wizard still, though 
years brought disenchantment to me — whose crea- 
tions seemed to my boyhood, quite as marvelous as 
those of Walter Scott. Ah, happy period of child- 
hood's indiscriminating enjoyment: what an appetite 
I must have had ! 

The pile of loose stones which led to Bryant's 
poem, and gave name to the mountain, was destroyed 
in wantonness or idle curiosity many years ago. I 



MAHAIWE, 333 

have been told that the pious contributions of visit- 
ors — who adopt the Indian custom of casting a 
stone upon it as they pass — have restored it. I did 
not see it; for my guide, a very literal person, in- 
sisted that there was no monument, nor ever had 
been. In fact the hard-headed Yankee had very 
little respect for the romancings of Kate Sedgwick 
and Cullen Bryant, as he somewhat familiarly de- 
signated two distinguished personages. 

Green River, which Mr. Bryant seems to have 
taken to his heart with the fullness of poetic affec- 
tion, has its fountain among the rocky hills of Aus- 
terlitz, New York; passes through the fine pastoral 
country of Alford and Egremont, and across the richer 
agricultural section of Great Barrington, until it 
joins the Housatonie near the Sheffield border. It 
was a favorite stream with the Mohegans. The 
green tint from which it takes its name is communi- 
cated by a peculiar clay, of which some portion of 
its banks is composed. Mr. Bryant intimates thai 
it was the favorite haunt of his leisure: 
" When breezes are soft and skies are fair, 
I steal an hour from study and care, 
And hie me away to :he woodland scene, 
Where wanders the stream with waters of green, 
As if the bright fringe of herbs on its brink 
Had given their stain to tlie wave tliey drink ; 
And they whose meadows it murmurs through 
Have named the stream from its own fair hue." 

' Yet pure its waters — its shallows are bright 
With colored pebbles and sparkles of light. 
And clear the depths where its eddies play, 



834 TAGHCONIC. 

And dimples deepen and whirl away, 

And the plane-tree's speckled arms o'er-shoot 

The swifter current that mines its root, 

Through whose shifting leaves, as you walk the hill. 

The qaivoriug glimmer of sun and rill 

With u sudden flash on the eye is thrown, 

Like the ray that streams from the diamond stone. 

Oh, loveliest there the sprint? days come, 

With blossoms, and birds, and wild-bee's hum ; 

The flowers of summer are fairest there, 

And freshest the breath of the summer air ; 

And sweetest the golden autumn day 

In silence and sunshine glides away." 

" Yet, fair as thou art, thou shunnest to glide. 
Beautiful stream! by the village side ; 
But windest away from haunts of men, 
To quiet valley and shaded glen ; 
And forest, and meadow, and slope of hill. 
Around thee, are lonely, and lovely, and still. 
Lonely — save when, by thy rippling tides, 
From thicket to thicket the angler glides ; 
Or the simpler comes, with basket and book, 
For herbs of power on thy banks to look ; 
Or, haply, some idle dreamer, like me, 
To wander and muse, and gaze on thee. 
Still — save the chirp of birds that feed 
On the river-cherry, and seedy reed, 
And thy own wild music gushing out 
With mellow murmur and fairj* shout, 
From dawn to the blush of another day. 
Like traveller singing along its way." 

There ! T jiositively Avill not disturb that exquisite 
picture. 

You will find much of Mr. Bryant's poetry — not 
only of liis earlier but of his later years, colored by 



MAHAIWE. 336 

the scenes among which lie lived while a lawyer at 
Great Barrington; and one finds it an interesting 
and agreeable study to wander through those scenes, 
with his volume in liand, and compare the one with 
the other. I am sure you cannot but enjoy taking 
with him " A Walk at Sunset; " deciphering by the 
aid of book or memory, the Tnscrijjtion at the En- 
trance of a Wood; tracing " The Rivulet; " gathering 
" The Yellow Violet " and the Fringed Gentian, and 
joining in all his rural pleasures. 

In dwelling thus upon the scenes in Great Har- 
rington which have been illustrated by the genius 
of Bryant, I do not mean to intimate that there are 
none of merit which he left unsung. The village, 
which since his day has grown to a large and hand- 
some town, has characteristic charms beside those of 
its noted elms, in the graceful irregularity of its 
streets, in some fine and tasteful buildings, and a 
general mingling of the pleasant features of town 
and country. There are other gentle streams to 
wander by, besides Green River, and majest'c hills 
besides Monument Mountain. 
. Gi'eat Baiu-ington is also an old historic town. 
It was the north parish of Shefiield, the first settled 
town in the county, and when incorporated it was 
the first shire town of Berkshire. The Indian 
mission was first established here. Here, first in 
Massachusetts, the King's Courts were over-thrown 
by the people in May 1774, with such results of 
kindling feeling that General Gage wrote home to 
his government, "A flame has sprung up at ihe ex- 



836 TAGHCONIC. 

tremity of the Province " — " The popular rage is 
very high in Berkshire, and makes its way rapidly to 
the rest." Here also the greatly erring but also 
greatly wronged Shays rebels obstructed the Courts 
of Commonwealth; and on the borders of the town 
they met their final defeat. 



xxni. 

TOWN, COLLEGE AND SPA . 

Ages and climes remote to thee impart 
What charms in genius and refines in art ; 
Thee in whose hands the keys of science dwell, 
The pensive portress of her holy cell; 
Whose constant vigils chase the chilling damp 

Oblivion steals upon her vestal lamp. 
«**«*********■» 

They in their glorious course, the guides of yoath. 
Whose language breathed the eloquence of truth ; 
Whose life, beyond preceptive wisdom, taught 
The great in conduct and the pure in thought. — 

Pleasures of Memory. 



My first visit to Willi amstown was made in the 
company of Samuel Bowles. It was in the days 
when Mr. Bowles did some of the best reporting for 
his own journal personally; and he was on his way 
to the commencement at Williams College, an in- 
stitution to which he gave love and honor such as 
he did not scatter wastefully, and whose faculty 
well appreciated his friendship. I was bound upon 
a similar errand, and intended to go by railroad and 
stage through North Adams, but Mr. Bowles would 
not hear of that route; and insisted upon a drive up 

the valleys of Lanesboro' and Williamstown, and 
29 



338 TAGHCONIC. 

over the ridge of hills at New Ashford, which he 
pronounced the most enjoyable ride possible. I 
was glad enough to accede to the proposal, and we 
started at the early dawn of the most delicious of 
summer nlornings. 

The drive was all that had been promised of it. 
My companion, relieved for a time from his ex- 
haustive journalistic work, was in the height of 
life and spirits, and descanted upon the scenes 
through which we passed with all that enthusiasm 
and those quick perceptive powers which, in after 
days, rendered his stories of travel across the conti- 
nent so wonderfully attractive: and perhaps with 
even more abandon, and freshness of feeling. He 
seemed all alive with the spirit of the morning. 
Nothing escaped his glance, from the mist- wreaths 
on the surface of Pontoosuc lake and the butter- 
flies that fluttered about our path, to the contours 
of the Greylock group which seemed to change inces- 
santly as we approached and rode along its base. 
After these many years, I recall perfectly. the kindling 
of his fine eye, and the rich tone of his voice, as he 
pointed out one striking picture after another. He 
fairly joyed in the morning glories of the lake; but 
reserved his most ecstatic praises for the lovely 
valley in; 'i^ich lies the village of South Williams- 
town. ^ 

By the road-side in the north part of Lanesboro' is 
a little grove, long familiar to myself and other lovers 
of pic-nic. The river murmurs gently through a 
green and level space; there are grey old rocks and 



4 



WILLIAMSTOWN. 339 

mossy trees; and, when we passed it, a broken 
table, a dismantled bower, and other relics of recent 
revelry, elicited from Mr. Bowles quaint and genial 
comment that showed his hearty sympathy in the 
simple pleasures they gave token of. Again, he 
drew rein long, to admire the nice grouping of 
bosky woods and single trees on a sunny hill-side. 
But to tell of half the pleasant things of that July 
morning ride would tire you in the reading, fleetly 
as they passed in the riding. 

Mr. Bowles's fondness for this region was further 
exemplifi,ed the next morning when, in full view of 
tlie laborious day before us, he was up at day- 
break for a two mile walk to the Sand-Springs — 
the present site of Greylock Hall. I have a theory 
that, to fully enjoy sunrise views, they should not 
be taken in too quick succession, and I kept to my 
theory and my bed. But the vigorous early-riser 
came back at breakfast-time all aglow with such 
descriptive eloquence that to this day I have not for- 
given myself that ill-timed indolence. 

In some of his despondent moments of discourage- 
ment or disgust with political affairs in those 
years, Mr. Bowles often spoke of relinquishing 
his interest in a daily newspaper, and retiring to 
the charge of a weekly journal in Berkshire. 
Whether he ever seriously contemplated so great 
a change, or it was a mere passing fancy, I do not 
know; but I hear that he gave much of his most 
arduous and most loving work to the weekly edition 
of his own paper: and he certainly had a warm 



840 TAGHCONIC. 

liking for Berkshire. Angels perhaps, better than 
men, may judge whether it would have been well 
for him to yield to that mood of longing for a quiet 
life, rather than, by the tremendous intellectual 
pressure which he finally chose, to condense the 
alloted three-score-years-and-ten of man's growth 
and effort into little more than fifty of measured 
time. For him, however, it may be that no other 
result was possible than that which came: no other 
choice than that he made. 

The impression of Williamstown gained under 
the pleasant circumstances which attended my first 
visit, was of an old-fashioned, quiet, uniquely beauti- 
ful village. It had at that time little to boast in the 
way of architecture; but, I do not know how it is, 
it seems to me that, make your college edifices as 
ugly as you can — and the old architects had im- 
mense capacities in that direction — still, if you 
plant them, with reasonable surroundings of fine 
trees in a pretty New England town, they soon 
acquire a classic and tranquil air wh-ch goes far to 
mollify the exasperating effect of brick-red and 
right-angles upon sensitive nerves. I ronomber 
that the tumble-down, cheap, old wooden chapel of a 
certain salt-water down-east college had an awe- 
inspiring aspect in my boyish eyes, which I fail to 
find intensified by the granite and gothic piles which 
have supplanted it: and I have a similar experience 
with Williamstown in its new architectural estate. 

Nevertheless the improvements both in town and 
college, have been made with such unexceptionable 



WILLI AMSTOWN. 341 

good taste that the result has been a genuine growth 
in beauty, until Williamstown has come to rival 
Stockbridge as the model village of New England. 
Its appearance from within is peculiar — unique so 
far as I have knowledge — which comes chiefly from 
a singular and very artistic unity of arrangement. 
It is in effect a broad park, of perhaps a mile in 
length, subdivided into shapely plots and wide un- 
fenced court-yards of verdant turf, with shaded 
avenues between: and all compassed within a rim 
of college edifices, churches, hotels, private dwellings 
and business structures; while, on the modei'ate 
elevations to which the ground rises towards the 
western extremity, a church, two or three college 
buildings, and a soldier's monument surmounted by a 
statue, stand out in bold relief. There are some 
pieces of exceedingly creditable and pleasing — even 
of striking — architecture. The scrupulous care 
with which the village society, modelled on the 
Laurel Hill Association, keeps every thing in exact 
order, as well as the perfection of grass, flower and 
foliage everywhere maintained, increase the attrac- 
tiveness of the scene. But the characterizing 
element is the unity and harmony of plan which 
seems to embrace at once town and college, and to 
have its counterpart in the life of those who dwell 
in that charmed circle. 

Outside of itself, Williamstown has another pecu- 
liarity of landscape, as a college town, in the near 
neighborhood of Greylock and other mighty hills. 
Our down-east friends will have their badinage at 



342 TAGHCONIC. 

"Fresh-water colleges." But what to the student is 
the ocean, whose ordinary acquaintance he makes 
through the fragrant medium of the Back-Bay — 
his more familiar intercourse being confined to sea 
sickness on brief holiday excursions — what, for a 
neighbor to the languid student, is this moody old 
sea, oftenest making his august presence known by 
the heralding of east winds and slimy odors, com- 
pared with the mighty mountain shapes, which greet 
his eye with every rising sun, and send him health 
and vigor in every breeze. 

Thoreau recognized the strength of the hills; 
writing, thus, from the top of the tower which once 
capped Greylock, but was accidentally burned: 

'• This observatory is a building of considerable size, erected 
by the students of Williams College, whose buildings may be 
seen by day-light, gleaming far down the valley. It would 
really be no small advantage, if every college were thus located 
at the base of a mountain ; as good at least as one well-en- 
dowed professorship. It were as well to be educated in the 
shadow of a mountain as in more classic shades. Some will 
remember no doubt, not only that they went to the college, 
but that they went to the mountain. Every visit to its summit 
woulH, as it were, generalize the particular information gained 
below, and subject it to more catholic tests." 

In the Iloosac Valley — of which the Williams- 
town is an expansion — the mountains assume a very 
different expression from that which they wear in 
the central portions of the great Berkshire basin: 
they make one feel that they are mountains, and 
not — as at Pittsfield, for instance — mere graceful 
lines in the landscape. Everywhere in this region 



WILLI AMSTOWN. 343 

one gets an inadequate idea of the magnitude of its 
mountainous cliaractex*, failing to realize that in 
Lanesboro' and Pittsfield, he stands upon the summit 
of a solid mass eleven hundred feet high, whose base 
extends from the sound to the St, Lawrence, and from 
the Connecticut to the Hudson: so that nearly one- 
half the real altitude is lost before the base of the 
mountains as here visible is reached. The apparent 
height of the mountains, as seen from Central Berk- 
shire, is further diminished by another circumstance. 
The ranges upon the east and west are continuous 
ridges, cleft here and there into domes and peaks, 
with indentations between, comparatively so slight 
as to leave the crest not serrated, but in wavy or 
scalloped relief against the sky. 

The valleys which separate the different hills are 
for the most part, properly, only what are known in 
English and Scotch landscape, as "Hopes:" that is 
valleys open only at one end. They give the hills 
grace rather than grandeur. If the Hoosac and 
Taconic ranges were sharply divided to their bases 
by distinct transverse valleys, they would convey 
an impression of vastly greater magnitude than they 
now do, although in reality it would be less. 

These weakening influences do not exist to the 
same extent in the more northern valley. There 
the mountains press closer upon the villages; the 
surface of the great swell of land which underlies 
them is four hundred feet lower than its maximum; 
and the contours of the mountains are more sharp and 
distinct. The result is a great gain in grandeur, 



844 TAGHCONIC. 

whatever may be lost in other regards. The land- 
scape is more imposing; you feel the might of Grey- 
lock, and the magnitude of the neighboring summits, 
here at Williamstown, at Adams and North Adams, 
as you do not feel them in the more open valley at the 
south. 

Notwithstanding the distance which separates 
them, Williamstown seems specially affiliated with 
Stockbridge, of the towns in the county, by social 
influences which date very far back. Colonel Eph- 
raim Williams, the founder of the college, was 
the son of Col. Ephraim Williams, one of the four 
farmers sent to Stockbridge to aid in civilizing the 
Indians; and was himself for a time a resident there. 
Some of the most distinguished early trustees lived 
in the same town. The long-time President — the 
massive minded Mark Hopkins — was born in Stock- 
briila,e; and so was his gentle brother. Professor 
Albert Hopkins — a gentle spirit his, however ob- 
scured to any l)y severity of aspect and manner — to 
whose fine tastes and elegant scholarship the 
college owes as much in one direction as it does 
to the sterner qualities of the great President in 
another. Nathan Jackson, John Z. Goodrich, David 
Dudley and Cyrus W. Field, and other of the late 
liberal benefactors and zealous friends of the college 
were Stockbridge men, although Mr. Jackson was a 
native of Tyringham, and Mr. Goodrich of Rich- 
mond. • 

Through these and other causes, the influence of 
the older, upon the younger town — perhaps I should 



WILLIAMSTOWN". 346 

say their reciprocal influence — has been powerful. 
Indeed I am not sure but that, if the spirits of 
Parsons West and Field should come back to Berk- 
shire for a summer visit they would find themselves 
quite as much at home in Williamstown as on Stock- 
bridge street. At all events the sort of people most 
attracted to the college town for rest and recreation, 
are grand and reverend seigniors of the old Stock- 
bridge gentry-class, who can make merry on moun- 
tain excursions with college professors, or lend their 
aid, if need be, in the village Sunday school and 
weekly conference meetings. There are among 
them, I doubt not, gentlemen who find a real luxury 
in being wakened by the college bell to the con- 
ciousness that they ai'e no longer subject to its 
brazen summons; some of them having the added 
delight that their sons are still bond-knechts of 
learning: which does not mean, young gentlemen, 
that there is anything as yet especially knightly 
about you — although there may be — but that, for 
four years, you are the bound servants of a noble 
mistress, of whom you may, when freed by your 
baccalaureate, become, if you will, gallant and de- 
voted followers — and who, whether you will it or 
not, will not wholly forsake you to your life's end, 
nor, as I reverently believe, even then. 

The grave and reverend seigniors, permanently 
or transiently resident here, give tone to Williams- 
town life the year round. To be sure, their sons 
and daughters are not, as a rule, so grave and re- 
verend : but if you meet Ralph Royster Doister and 



346 TAGHCONIC. 

Miss Flora McFlhnsey sauntering up tlie street — 
she dangling her parasol and giving back the saucy 
sun, glances as good as he sends; he twirling his 
tortoise shell cane and sheltering the delicate blos- 
soms of his complexion with a blue veil — you may 
set these interesting young persons down in your 
note book as, for certain, en-atics from some other 
summer social sphere. 

Thus much, of the old college town. The scene 
changes two miles to the north; where a fashionable 
watering place has within a few years started up 
around some mineral springs which have long had 
local repute. The analysis of the waters gives a 
result similar to that of Lebanon Springs; but some 
old farmers of the neighborhood, who were kind 
enough to be my guides, on a visit " out of season," 
told wonderful stories of old-time cures of rheuma- 
tism and cutaneous disorders; which would indicate 
a resemblance to the Missisquoi Springs on the 
shore of Lake Champlain. To be candid, however, 
■whatever may be the virtues of the waters, the 
people who come here do not look as if they had 
anything to be cured which would not be speedily 
remedied by mountain air and free exercise in the 
old balsamy woods; and I apprehend that health- 
seeking is a thin excuse for enjoying a few Aveeks in 
a delightful and picturesque spot, and with pleasant 
associates: an apology for that Avhich needs none. 

Greylock Hall, the hostelry of this novel watering 
place, stands on an elevation well up to tlie base of 
the Vtnindnt bordei'-mountains, whose forest-covere<l 



1 



WILLIAMSTOWN. Hil 

sides furnish a strong back-ground for the large, 
showy building, while a soft foreground is supplied 
by the groves, gardens, bowers and fountains of the 
Hall; a roomy park, carved, as it were, out of the 
forest primeval, and converted to culture by some 
eccentric magician. The world of fashion, delight- 
ing in sensational contrasts, has here retreated 
towards the rudest recesses of the mountains, as far 
as it well could without absolutely making its 
abode in them. Grey lock Hall is a slice of metro- 
politan life and luxury taken up — students of the 
" Arabian Nights " know how — and dropped right 
down in the wilderness. 

Behind, stretch wild and scraggy mountains with 
a highly inviting look of native savagery, not a little 
suggestive of bears and catamounts, although I 
believe the sportsman must be content finally with 
much less exciting game; and, before the Hall, lies a 
rural country with few farm houses. But, only two 
miles away, one gets a picturesque glimpse of Wil- 
liamstown spires, and he knows that, six or seven 
miles down yonder rich and busy valley, lies the great 
town of North Adams. At his elbow he hears the 
click of the telegraph and close at hand, the jar of 
the locomotive with its train. Ah, that is the charm 
of it ! The world of fashion, hide itself in what 
nook or wilderness it may, does not willingly loose 
its grasp of the telegraph and the railroad, and wants 
itsdaily metropolitan journal as regularly at Greylock 
Hall as at the Buckingham or the Clarendon. And 
with all this mixture of life and loneliness, civiliza- 



348 TAGHCONIC. 

tion and savagery, lore and luxury, freedom and 
comfort, social pleasures with a rural zest and wood- 
land sports with a citizen's relish for them; with 
all these, I conceive that the liking that the world's 
people — to use a Shakerism — manifest for Grey- 
loek Hall, is abundantly accounted for. 



n 



XXIV. 

LENOX — THE ONLY ONE. 

The waies through which my weary steps I guide 
In this delightful laud of Faery, 
Are so exceeding spacious and wyde, 
And sprinkled with such sweet variety 
Of all that pleasant is to ear and eye. 
That I, nigh ravisht with rare thoughts delight. 
My tedious travell do forget thereby ; 
And when I gin to feele decay of might, 
It strength to me supplies, and chears my dulled spright. 

Faerie QueeM. 



. And now, what of Lenox? Of Lenox, whose 
name has so long been associated with so much of 
the grandest and most beautiful in Berkshire scenery, 
the noblest, purest and most graceful in Berkshire 
life, the most admired and most loved in Berkshire 
genius: which, not many years ago, absorbed almost 
entirely whatever attention an influential portion 
of the outer world had to bestow upon the great 
highland county of Massachusetts — Stockbridge 
alone closely rivalling it in the eye of these fashion- 
setting folk, 

Lenox is a puzzle; and the mystery with which it 
challenges us, is the hidden spell that, irresistibly as 
30 



35 TAGHCONIC. 

it seems, yearly compels hither an ever-increasing 
number of men and women of a supei'ior intellect- 
ual — not necessarily literary — caste, and of ex- 
ceptionally pure and natural tastes: an annual 
assemblage whose social life is governed by idiosyn- 
crasies — perhaps indefinable — that distinguish it 
from every other summer-social circle. It is natural 
enough, and for the better enjoyment of all, that 
every section of society, should gather itself to- 
gether, each after its own kind, and in its own place; 
but it is not often that the result is so homogeneous 
as that which is, every summer, reproduced at 
Lenox. The characteristics of life there are con- 
sequently more individualized and pronounced than 
in looser and more temporary social organizations : 
some of them indeed amounting to polished eccen- 
tricity. 

I wish it to be understood that my opportunities 
of observing this peculiar phase of society have 
been, for the most part — in recent years altogether — 
from without; and I am aware that the aspect of 
social formations, like the apparent contours of our 
mountains, vary strangely with the varying point 
of view. Whether my own stand-point in this case, 
being a distant one, has enabled me to borrow any 
enchantment for my picture, I am not able to say. 
It was once my privilege, for a single season at a 
certain theatre, to go nightly behind the scenes — 
where I learned a great deal, to be sure: but it hardly 
fitted me to prepare a more appreciative morning 
critique upon the presentation of the play. 



LENOX. 351 

I do not however purpose the absurdity of at- 
tempting, with my plentiful lack of data, an analysis 
of life at Lenox; but simply, in incidental connec- 
tions, to hint at possible sources of its more patent 
peculiarities, and some of the elements in that 
mysterious spell which the spot casts upon its habi- 
tues. But I may speak from more thorough infor- 
mation of that remarkable natural scenery which 
steadily holds the first place in the love and esteem 
of so many constant beholders, whose tastes have 
been moulded or corrected by extended travel at 
home and abroad: scenery whose charms seem to 
me to consist more in an unusual combination of 
satisfactory qualities, and freedom from blemish, 
than in any specific splendor of landscape — however 
striking instances of the latter may here and there 
present themselves. 

I think that, to obtain a better first effect, we 
will approach this scenery by a circuitous route. 
Immediately south of Pittsfield, there rises a short, 
but — as seen from that town — a conspicuous, and 
exceedingly picturesque, chain of mountains. The 
hastiest glance will show the traveller who mounts 
to the foot-bridge at the Union Depot, how much 
the landscape owes to the fine shaping of its three 
great hills. In this regard the Greylock group is 
not more worth. These hills, of which there are 
four visible from Pittsfield, are a part of the Lenox 
range, which, as I told you sometime ago, is a 
spur thrown off by the Taconics at Egreraont. It 
terminates with Melville Hill, which lifs in Pittsfield, 



SR? TAGHCONIC. 

between the new and old roads to Lenox, its eastern 
slope being the farm formerly owned by Hermann 
Melville. At its foot, upon the north, is the fine 
old mansion — now almost in its hundredth year — 
whose hospitable roof, under the successive master- 
ship of Henry Van Schaack, Elkanah Watson, Major 
Thomas Melville, and J. R. More wood, has welcomed 
a long and rare array of guests, from Alexander 
Hamilton and Philip Schuyler to Nathaniel Haw- 
thorne and Hermann Melville. The grounds of this 
mansion enclose Melville Lake — the prettiest little 
lakelet possible, with its crystal-clear wave and rim of 
green woods. One for whom Berkshire skies should 
weep, used to call it "A Tear of Heaven;" they 
who love best the pure white flowers on its placid 
breast, speak of it as " The Lilly Bowl." There is, 
upon its eastern shore, a cool and mossy path com- 
pletely overarched by spreading, thick-leaved boughs: 

"No more sky, for overbrancbiug 
At your head than at your feet." 

Rarely, through that leafy screen, the green and 
golden light streams down with transmuted gor- 
geousness. There is an exquisite wealth of color 
in some of those woodland tints. I can never forget 
the rich purple hue which a few struggling rays of 
summer sunshine imparted to a little spot of black 
earth as I walked once in this cool retreat, while it 
was fierce noon-tide without. The very figures 
painted on the mould, in that royal coloring, are 
vividly present to me now, .while so much that pro- 



LKNOX. 853 

mised to endure has faded from existence, and is 
fading from memory. 

The first conspicuous eminence in the Lenox 
Range is South Mountain: a mile from Pittsfield 
Park, and deservedly the favorite of such towns- 
people as enjoy a moderate walk, through pleasant 
avenues, to an alluring goal. No other spot within 
easy distance presents so many enticements to the 
devotee of the romantic in natural scenery. From 
several points upon it, you will get the best views 
of the town of Pittsfield to be had: except, perhaps, 
one from Day Mountain in Dalton, The rocky 
natural terraces on its north-eastern side afford 
strolls of novel beauty, and rich in wild-flowers: 
" Flowers, purple, blue and white, 
Like sapphire, pearl and rich embroidery." 

Mount Osceola, next in the range, is a large and 
shapely mountain, playing an important part in the 
landscape, and interesting, although not especially 
BO, to the excursionist. 

Beyond Osceola, and an intervening valley, the 
Lenox range rises to its greatest altitude, one thou- 
sand and sixty-five feet above the track of the rail- 
road at the Richmond Depot, or twenty-one hundred 
and fifteen, above the sea level. Rising sharply from 
the Richmond valley, its contour is more clearly de- 
fined than that of any other mountain — Greylock 
always excepted — which is visible from Pittsfield. 
In this view it assumes a distinctly pyramidal form, 
which gives it great prominence; but the summit is 
not often visited by pleasure-seekers, as thick woods 



354 TAGHCOSriC. 

obscure the prospects which would otherwise be 
among the most magnificeut in Berkshire. A spec- 
tator perched among the boughs of some tall and 
favorably located tree, looks directly down in dif- 
ferent directions, upon the Lenox and Stockbridge, 
the Pittsfield, Lanesboro' and Dalton, and the Rich- 
mond and West Stockbridge valleys, as well as away 
to the Catskill and other distant summits. But such 
an obsei'vatory defies the daring of the most adven- 
turous young woman in the maddest of our Alpine 
clubs — not to impugn the aspiring courage of the 
masculine mountain-climbers — and it behooves the 
tasteful people of Lenox or of Pittsfield, to erect 
here, in some suitable clearing, a stone tower of 
liberal dimensions. Visible from every train of 
the Boston and Albany railroad, it would soon be- 
come as famous as the Wadsworth tower near Hart- 
ford, and render the peak the favorite mountain 
resort of central Berkshire. 

I once passed a delicious summei"-day here with a 
party of rare climbers, who believed that we were 
upon Perry's Peak. We were sorely disappointed 
in not finding the superb views we had been pro- 
mised: and the disaj^pointment was aggravated by 
the tantalizing glimpses, some of us succeeded in 
getting after much effort. Nevertheless we had a 
day of memorable enjoyment by the aid of some 
freely-voiced music, and readings from the poets by 
one who had a rare gift that way: 

When we came to learn that we had not been upon 
Perry's Peak at all, but only upon the nameless 



• • tocun's seat. 355 

*' highest point of the Lenox Range," we felt that 
so grand a feature of the landscape deserved a less 
awkward designation: and we agreed upon one. It 
was a noble and fitting name: but I shall not tell it 
to you; for it is best to avoid confusion in such 
matters — and be-thinking ourselves that, as the 
peak is in the bailiwick of Lenox, its christening by 
.us might be resented as discourteous intrusion, we 
did not proceed with it. 

Afterwards, however, I mentioned the incident to 
a brilliant Lenox woman — a Lenox woman by virtue 
of a residence of several summers, and, I believe, 
winters also — who spoke of a name which is cer- 
tainly not alien to this region: 

Yocun's Seat. 

Yocun was a noted Indian chief of the vicinage, 
who, with his fellow-chieftain, Ephraim, sold to the 
grantees from the Province, the rights of their 
people in the township now divided into Lenox and 
Richmond; but which as plantations were known as 
Yocuntown and Mount Ephraim. When Richmond 
was incorporated as a town in 1765; and Lenox in 
1767, the sachems were, in very unceremonious 
fashion, deprived of their honors, in order that they 
might be bestowed upon Charles Lenox, Duke of 
Richmond: the friend of Horace Walpole, and the 
early defender, in the House of Lords, of American 
colonial rights. 

This sf><>me<l to Mrs. X. and the lively circle about 
lu'i-, a very sad ease of robbing Peter to pay Paul; 



366 TAGHCONIC. , 

and she proposed to rectify the ancient wrong in 
part, by giving the old Lenox sachem's name to the 
highest point of Lenox Mountain. And she was the 
more satisfied of the rightfulness of this tardy and 
partial restitution of stolen honors, when she un- 
earthed — for aught I know, from the rich stores of 
her friend, Miss Sedgwick — a tradition that Chief 
Yocun, in his later years, was wont often to seek 
this commanding summit, and, seated there in 
kingly sorrow, to gaze long and sadly over the fair 
realms which, partly by his own act, had passed 
-from the sway of the red man. 

If you think with this justice-loving woman, 
Yocun' 8 Seat, let it be. . 

But, by the by, and before I forget His Grace of 
Richmond entirely, it may relieve the minds of some 
hypercritical people, of whom I often hear, to tell 
them that, although there is a Scottish region known 
as " The Lennox," the charter of the Berkshire town 
follows correctly the spelling of the ducal family 
name in using only a single " n. ' 

The pyramidal appearance of Yocun's Seat, as 
seen from Pittsfield, is deceptive; it being only the 
terminal presentation of a ridge which descends 
very gradually for some miles to the south-west. 
The chain is continued by connected elevations 
through Alford to the main range of the Taconics 
in Egremont, although the elcA'ation at the last be- 
comes so slight as hardly to be recognized; giving 
the spur the appearance of an isolated chain of hills. 
These mountains — many of which command su- 



LENOX. 367 

perb views — are generally known by the names of 
the towns in which they lie; but, upon the border 
between Alford and West Stockbridge, Tom Ball 
rises abrui:»tly, and proclaims itself one of the most 
notable of the great mountains of Berkshire. Pre- 
sident Hitchcock speaks of the Lenox spur of the 
Taconics as here attaining its highest elevation, but 
he does not state the height of Tom Ball, nor whether 
he refers to its elevation above the sea, or above thB 
bottom of the neighboring valley. I think that the 
latter is intended, and that Yocun's Seat, which 
rises from a valley level two hundred feet higher 
than the more southern mountain has, is, in regard 
to the sea level, the higher altitude; although the dif- 
ference can hardly be more than one hundred feet. 
But we have now to do only with the northern 
portion of tlie Lenox spur, which, bending around 
the Lenox and Stockbridge valley, separates it from 
those of Pittsfield, Richmond and West Stockbridge. 
By the Lenox and Stockbridge valley, I do not 
mean the Housatonic valley in which the villages 
of Lenox Furnace, Lee and Stockbridge on the 
Plain are built. Lenox has, besides its farming dis- 
tricts, two thriving villages. Lenox Furnace, the 
seat of the glass and iron works, lies directly upon 
the Housatonic river and railroad. Westward fi'om 
this the ground rises rapidly, four hundred and fifty 
feet, in two and a half miles; at the end of which 
commences a shelf of rolling upland, extending into 
the elbow formed by the Lenox range of mountains 
on tbe north and west; southward, this uplaii'l do- 



858 TAGHCOisno. 

clines a mile and a half to the Stockbridge Bowl, 
and, j^ast that noble sheet of water on the right, 
and Mount Deokook on the left, to the brow of the 
hill which descends abruptly to Stockbridge Plain. 
And this, from the northern mountain wall to 
Stockbridge on the Hill, is the far famed Lenox and 
Stockbridge valley. 

Uljon the upland shelf and its slope to the lake — 
which you may call Mahkeenac if you are bent upon 
it — are built the village, and most of the villas, of 
Lenox-on-the-Heights; the favorite haunt of that 
summer-life of which I have spoken. 

And, now, let us approach Lenox, from Pittsfield, 
by the circuitous route of which I told you so long 
ago. Following the pleasant road which skirts the 
northern bases of the Lenox range, we shall come, 
after a drive of a half dozen miles, to the highway 
from Lebanon Springs, through Richmond to Lenox, 
which here crosses the southern slope of Yocun's 
Seat. The same route was followed very long ago 
by some very distinguished tourists to whom I in- 
troduced you in the story of Perry's Peak. 

Descending the ridge upon the east, you will 
obtain the best view of Lenox; a white village, half 
hidden by embowering trees and seated upon a 
gently sloping and richly cultivated swell of land. 
In various directions you will see picturesque villas 
and cottages in park-like grounds, although the most 
costly are not in this view. On an eminence at the 
farther end of the village, rises the fine old-fashioned 
New England meeting-house in which William 



LENOX. 35 9 

Ellery Channiiig delivered his last discourse, and 
which bears on its front the clock presented by 
Frances Anne Kemble. On your left you will look 
down the luxurious Lenox and Stockbridge valley. 
It was the view from this point which compelled 
from a band of Hungarian exiles the shout, " Beauty ! 
Beauty !" Their English could go no farther than 
that; nor was more needed. 

I shall not attempt to describe for you the nice 
points of Lenox scenery: there are too many of 
them. Lenox summer-folk — the most energetic of 
pleasure seekers — are always trooping to some ol 
them: hill-top, cliff , lake-side or glen — "And small 
blame to them ! " said an Irish friend of mine who 
had in his student-life been familiar with all that is 
best in Italian and German landscape — " and small 
blame to them ; for this Lenox beats the world for 
grand going-places." " Going-places " was a new 
phrase to me; but I do not think that it needs in- 
terpretation. Of these Lenox going-places, one of 
the most admired is so central as the village church 
yard. Indeed you can hardly walk a dozen rods 
without coming upon a new phase of loveliness 
which in regions where beauty is not so freely 
lavished would be deemed wonderful. The favorite 
points are those which, like Church Hill, The Ledge, 
and Bald Head, look down the rich vista of the 
Stockbridge Valley, with the blue Dome of the 
Taghconics rising in the distance. But the spot 
\vhich giows most vividly in my remembrance is 
-' The Old Judge Walker Hill." I passed a glad 



360 TAGHCONIC. 

summer afternoon there, years ago, and made a de- 
liberate effort to fix the landscape in my memory. 
I do not know how much has, nevertheless, faded; 
but I still seem to see a rolling country, of mingled 
wood, field and meadow, intersected with shaded 
avenues; with Stockbridge Bowl and Laurel Lake 
gleaming in blue and silver amid the broad verdure; 
a pretty glimpse of Lee village in the middle dis- 
tance; and, still beyond, great mountains, whose 
personality I did not recognize. It was a bewilder- 
ing excess of beauty. 

But grand and lovely as are the natural attrac- 
tions of Lenox, they are not so pre-eminent as to 
account for the place which it holds in the esteem 
of those who give tone to the world's opinions. 
That has been gained by social influences of ex- 
ceptional power: which it may not be profane to 
consider briefly. And among those influences we 
must concede that a large share were derived pri- 
marily from the Sedgwick family: not, however, to 
the extent of admitting that, in 1821, they went to 
the shire town of Berkshire, missionaries of culture 
among a rude people. 

In 1821, Mr. Charles Sedgwick was compelled by 
his duties as clerk of the County Courts, to remove 
to Lenox. 

Mr. Sedgwick was the youngest and favorite 
brother of the authoress, between whom and his 
wife there was also a very tender friendship. For 
the two years succeeding his marriage,, they had 
lived as one household in the old Stockbridge home- 



LENOX. 30 1 

stead, and the change, in 1821, was very distasteful to 
Miss Catherine, whose judgment of her brother's 
new place of residence was characteristically warped 
by its connection with the disruption of the pleasant 
family circle, over which she moaned disconsolately 
in her correspondence. Her biographer — doubtless 
receiving her impressions from the writings or con- 
versations of Miss Sedgwick — describes the Lenox 
of 1821, as "a bare and ugly little village, perched 
upon a desolate hill at the end of six miles of rough 
and steep driving;" and, while admitting, to the 
full, the native beauties of Lenox scenery, she thinks 
that to a " native and lover of the rich valley of 
Stockbridge, with its soft and graceful variations of 
meadow and wood, its gentle river and sheltering 
mountains, and the appearance of refinement even 
then given to its dwellings, Lenox must have seemed 
dismally bleak and uncouth." 

There was certainly some foundation for these 
strong expressions, but they, as certainly, owe their 
extreme bitterness to the great liability of Miss 
Sedgwick's judgment to be disturbed by the relations 
of men and things to the House of Sedgwick. Lenox- 
on-the-Heights stands three hundred and fifty feet 
higher than Stockbridge-on-the-Plain : full one- 
quarter of the rise being within a mile of the Sedg- 
wick homestead on Stockbridge street. The height 
of Lenox above Pittsfield Park is one hundred and 
forty-three feet. The present denizens of the place 
decidedly pique themselves upon its altitude. Tra- 
dition tells dismal stories of the Berkshire roads a 
31 



362 TAQHCONTC. 

half century ago, and the soil of Lenox is not favora- 
ble for road building. The di-ive from Stockbrid^e, 
now so wonderfully delicious, was beyond ques- 
tion very different at certain seasons of the year 
1821. 

President D wight, who visited the village in 1798, 
thus describes it: 

" Lenox, the shire town of the county, is principally built 
upon a single street, on a ridge, declining rather pleasantly to 
the east and west, but disagreeably interrupted by several 
deep valleys crossing it at right angles. The soil and the 
buildings are good, and the town exhibits many marks of 
prosperity. The public buildings consist of a church (the 
same which now crowns the hill), a court-house, a school- 
house and jail,"- 

Not a glowing description, nor yet, on the other 
hand, repulsive. And the place must have improved 
in the twenty-three years between 1798 and 1821. 
Still it cannot be denied that the Lenox, even of the 
latter year, bore but a sorry comparison with either 
the present urbanized Lenox or the Stockbridge of 
sixty years ago. In 1821 the commonwealth had 
few villages of which the same cannot be said, 
with at least equal force. 

In regard to social life, the superiority of Stock- 
bridge was less marked; amounting, to put it at its 
strongest, to no more than was to be expected in the 
older, richer, and n;iore populous town. Lenox had 
even then a social circle of culture, exceptional even 
among larger towns. 

As early as the beginiiing of the present century. 



LENOX. 363 

as we may fairly infer from the correspondence of 
so competent a critic as Henry Van Schaack, men of 
much more than ordinary refinement, information 
and breadth of thought were accustomed to meet 
ai'ound the hospitable board of Major Eggleston, 
In 1821, Lenox had been for thirty-four years the 
county seat of Berkshire; and it was then the cus- 
tom for the judges — more numerous than now — 
and, at least the leading members of the bar, to re- 
main in town through the long sessions of the 
courts: a fact which must have greatly benefited local 
society. And it is no unmeaning jest to add, that 
some of the most cultured citizens of other sections 
of the county were often compelled, as prisoners for 
debt, to pass long periods in Lenox, in its legal 
capacity as " jail limits." The Lenox Academy, one 
of the most successful high schools in the state, had 
flourished since 1803, and in 1821 was under the 
charge of scholarly Levi Glezen: and it, too, must 
have had its mollifying efi:"ect upon men and man- 
ners. 

Among the permanent citizens were the elder and 
the younger Judge Walker, County Treasurer Joseph 
Tucker, riev. Dr. Shepard, Doctors Worthington and 
Collins, and James W. Robbins who, with others of 
like merit, betoken a very respectable elevation of 
village society. 

I think, therefore, that the picture which apj)alled 
Miss Sedgwick's imagination when she first learned 
the necessity for her brother's removal to the seat of 
the county business may be sufiiciently softened to 



}Jd4 TAGHCONIC. 

leave us a prosperous, and rather pleasant, county- 
town, with a population of some refinement, very 
considerable liberal culture, and much intellectual 
power: comparing quite favoraby with most of the 
New England county-seats of that era. The six 
miles exile of the county-clerk and his family fell 
far short of Siberian severity: as his sister found, 
when, some ten years later, she consented to share it. 

It was about the year 1831, that Lenox became 
the chief summer residence of Miss Sedgwick, who 
in winter made her home with either of two brothers 
resident in New York, as she might elect. In the in- 
terval between 1821 and 1831, Lenox village had 
impi'oved in appearance, and its society had received 
some valuable accessions; particularly in the family 
of Hem-y W. — afterwards Judge — Bishop, Mr. 
Sedgwick's life-long fi'iend. A coterie composed 
largely of gentlemen holding county-offices, and 
their families, had grown, or was growing, into a 
remarkable social body, distinguished for intellec- 
tual graces, and the marvel of .all observers for 
its fraternal friendship and close alliance. In this 
circle, the love-compelling qualities of Charles Sedg- 
wick and the queenly powers of his accomplished 
wife made them conspicuous. 

But, as yet, Lenox had only provincial distinction. 
The great world took little note of the superb 
sceneiy, still less of the life, of the little mountain 
town. The residence of Miss Sedgwick soon began 
to cliauge all this. Her literary fame, the social 
distinction of her family in the metropolis, and more 



LENOX, 365 

than all, her sympathies with humanity — which 
were as world-wide as her local affections were in- 
tense — soon began to attract to her country home, 
men and women of the more intellectual class every 
where; and especially those most deeply engaged 
in efforts to speed the world towards its better 
future. Not only the champions of freedom and 
humanity in the great centers of American effort, 
but the higher order of republican exiles from Italy 
and Hungary, made pilgrimages to the home of a 
family whose sympathy with embattled right was 
not limited by nationality. The keen and friendly 
interest of the whole Sedgwick family of tliat gene- 
ration in the struggles of European republicanism 
was, by the bye, in violent contrast with the senti- 
ments of their father. 

The singular merit of the family school for young 
ladies which, begun by Mrs. Charles Sedgwick in 
1828, grew to great fame, also largely influenced the 
gathering and moulding of the summer society 
peculiar to Lenox; and not less did the accession of 
Mrs. Kemble, who became, first a frequent visitor 
of the Sedgwicks, an(l afterwards a permanent resi- 
dent, zealously active in promoting the good of the 
town. 

In a letter, of November 1842, Miss Sedgwick 
hints the characteristics of the social life which 
grew up under these and similar influences and 
became so wonderfully attractive. 

" You have heard of Channing's death, and perliajis that he 
passed the summer ;it I.enox, and in a free and happy condition 



360 TAGHCONIC. 

of mind and body, such as he often said he did not remember 
to have enjoyed since childhood, and such as his friends had 
never before observed. He seemed to have thrown off every 
shackle, to be lid of his precision ; and he was so affectionate 
and playful with the youngs people that those who did not 
before know him wondered why any one should feiir Dr. 
Channing. He liked our auti-conventionalism ; our free ways 
of <;;oiug on — our individual independence of tho'ight and 
action ; he enjoyed, as if he had come to his father's house, 
the forever-changing beauty of our hills and valleys, and he 
went away with more than half a promise to return to us 
next summer." 

I find this letter, which is addressed to Rev. Dr. 
Orville DeAvey, in Miss Sedgwick's " Life and 
Letters." In the recently published correspondence 
of Charles Sumner, there are two or three letters 
which illustrate the unconventionalism of Lenox 
life from another point of view. In the latter 
summer of 1844, Mr. Sumner visited Hon. Nathan 
Appleton in his country-seat at Pittsfield, reinvigor- 
ating his impaired health, and " enjoying much the 
meadows, green fields, rich country and beautiful 
scenery," in rides upon a horse loaned him by his 
host's neighbor, Hon. E. A. Newton. He gave his 
impressions freely in letters to George S. Hillard 
and Dr. S. G. Howe, who had been his companions 
during part of his visit. Under date of September 
10th, 1844, he writes thus to Mr. Hillard concerning 
two rides to Lenox: 

" He [Mr. Samuel G. Ward] jolted us in his wagon to view 
the farms, one of which he coveted. Afterwards, we looked 
on while, in a field not far off, the girls and others engaged 
in the sport of archery. Mrs. Butler (Fanny Kemble) hit the 



LENOX. 367 

target in the golden middle. The next day was Sunday, and 
1 was perplexed whether to use Mr. Newton's horse, as I pre- 
sume the master never used him on Sunday. But my scruples 
gave way before my longings for the best of exercises. I left 
Pittsfield as the first bell was tolling and arrived at Lenox' 
some time before the second bell. I sat in Miss Sedgwick's 
room ; time passed on. Mrs. Butler joined us and again time 
passed on. Mrs. Butler proposed to accompany me to Pitts- 
field on horse-back. I stayed to the cold dinner, making it a 
lunch. Time again passed on from the delay in saddling the 
horses. We rode the longest way, and I enjoyed my com. 
pauion very much." 

Again on the 12 th Mr. Sumner writes to Mr. 
Hillard from Pittsfield: 

" I wish you were still here. Your presence would help me 
bear the weight of Fanny Kemble's conversation. I confess 
to a certain awe, and a sense of her superiority, which makes 
me at times anxious to subside into my inferiority, and leave 
the conversation to be sustained by others. " 

The glimpses into the Lenox life of a generation 
ago, afforded by these extracts, convey a better idea 
of its peculiar charms than I could give you in any 
other way. The passing away of that generation of 
the Sedgwick family, and of most of their associates, 
together with the removal of others, consequent upon 
the change in the county seat, has taken away, for 
the most part, the local frame work, upon which the 
summer society of Lenox first formed itself. But 
it had already outgrown that frame-work. The 
flood of life which poured towards these romantic 
heights as they became more and more known, was 
perplexing in its variety. Millionaires, artists, poets, 
politicians, scholars and statesmen came in yearly 



368 TAGHCONIC. 

succeeding waves. Some found themselves in 
harmony with the genius of the place and affiliated 
themselves with it: others, after a more or less brief 
tvial, sought a more congenial resort elsewhere. In 
the meanwhile, villas and cottages have sprung up 
on all manner of beautiful sites; and such luxurious 
appointments as metropolitan tastes demanded have 
in some measure been supplied. Society has of 
course much modified its usages to accommodate 
itself to these changes. What the exact result has 
been, as I warned you at the first, I shall not attempt 
to tell, or even myself to understand, but it is at 
least something unlike any other social life; and I 
believe it to have so far retained the old spirit, that 
Lenox-on-the-Heights — in spite of stately mansions, 
showy equipages and fashionable clubs — still re- 
mains the Paradise of unconventional good-breeding. 



L'ENVOI. 

To thee, perchance, this rambling strain 

Recalls our summer walks again ; 

When doing naught — and to speak tme, 

Not caring to find ought to do — 

The wild unbounded hills, we ranged. 

While oft our talk its topic changed. 

And, desultorj' as our way. 

Ranged unconfined from grave to gay : 

Even when it flagged, as oft would chance, 

No effort made to break the trance. 

We could right pleasantly pursue 

Our sports in social silence, too. — Walter Scott. 



We must finish here our rambles upon the sum- 
mer-enchanted hills of Berkshire, which we have 
ranged, as I hoj;e, not altogether without pleasure, 
or profit. But I feel that my neighbors will com- 
plain, with reason, if I forget the multitude of our 
own enticing " going-places," which, are, at least, not 
exceeded in number or loveliness even by those of 
Lenox. To some of them, I have already conducted 
you; but there are others quite as choice, which it 
■W.)uld be unpardonable in one who owes to them so 
many days of exquisite pleasure, to neglect, for 
■wanderings to the end of the county. And even 



87c TAGHCONIC. 

if I cannot now go with you to them, you too, 
would have cause for complaint, if I left you totally 
uninformed of their existence. 

If, coming to us for a single day, you should 
ask, what ride, of all others to select, the answer 
would almost certainly be : " To Potter's Moun- 
tain ! " This bare and lofty Taghconic summit lies 
some six miles north-west of us. When it was very 
difficult of access it was a frequent and favorite re- 
sort of Herman Melville and his companions in pic- 
nic. A new highway to Hancock, now renders the 
rid3 to its mossy top, perfectly easy, and the whole 
town seems to have gone mad over its fine and 
comprehensive views of mountains, valleys, lakes, 
streams, villages and groves. 

A most alluring " going-place" for young people, 
in pairs and parties, is Lulu Cascade, in a lonely 
nook between two Taghconic hills, some two miles 
n:)rtl -west of Lake Onota, It is almost the exact 
counterpart of the little water-fall of which I told 
you in the story of Undine's Glen, which was ruined 
yeai\^ ago by the wood-choppers. A silver- white 
column of water falls fifteen feet over dark rocks, 
into a broad black pool, overhung by a huge grey 
boulder. Below is a ravine, shaded half with rocks 
and half with trees, and a rippling brook. The mer- 
riest of all parties linger to lunch upon its banks. 

A cool and pretty wood-road leads up the southern 
bank of the brook, and if, after pursuing it for per- 
haps half a mile, you climb a moderate hill upon 
your loft, you will find upon its top a basin in which 



l'envoi. 371 

lies Berry Pond: the gem of mountain lakelets. 
Its shore is a favorite camping ground for those who 
seek a brief interval of woodland life. Berry Pond 
and Lulu Cascade are not to be omitted in any pro- 
gramme of Berkshire summer excursions. 

And yet the ride upon which I should best love to 
take many of you is different from either of those 
which I have described. What is known as the old, 
or east, road to Lanesboro'; and is now little used, 
runs for a great part of its length along the ci'est of 
an upland ridge, noted for its fertility. The drive 
along this road is exceedingly pleasant, with its 
border of rich farms, over which we look on every 
side to noble mountain landscapes. After a five-mile 
drive along this ridge and in a picturesque valley, 
we rise to the summit of the road on the southern 
slope of Prospect Hill in Lanesboro', with the village 
below us and a magnificent over-view stretching to 
the Lenox Hills. We may now descend to the 
village and pursue our way home, past Pontoosuc 
Lake. But it would be better to turn down the 
eastern descent to Berkshire village, the seat 
of the Crystal Glass Manufacture, where, at the 
foot of Crystal Mountain, we should find, great heaps 
of white silicious sand, which if it were winter, you 
could not distinguish from snow-drifts. Then we 
would enter the works where this beautiful material 
is transmuted into glass, clear as crystal, or of any, 
or all, the colors of a summer rainbow. I think some 
of you would enjoy that excursion. 

1 should be glad to show you these and a host of 



372 TAGHOONIC. 

other beautiful and interesting spots which lie 
close about us. But for the present at least, our 
rambles are ended. 

I cannot, however, part with you, without re- 
moving some false impressions, which a reading of 
the printed pages leads me to fear that I may have 
given you. I had no wish in telling the story of 
John Chandler Williams, to rob Dr. Benjamin 
Franklin of the glory of securing the Hutchinson 
correspondence in England. The letters obtained 
by the young student-hero must have been supple- 
mentary to the Franklin acquisition. You will find 
the authority for my story in the Journals of the 
Provincial Congress, and in the History of The 
Williams Family, where it is given in the words of 
Hon. Edward A. Newton, Mr. Williams's son-in-law. 

In the account of the Dedication of the Pittsfield 
Soldiers' Monument, the prominence given to Gen. 
Bartlett by the circumstances of his subsequent early 
death, led me to the use of language which may be 
construed as meaning that his brief, but noble, address 
was the chief feature of the ceremony; whereas in 
fact the grand address was one of that series of ora- 
tions by George William Curtis, which, if collected 
would form at once the most glowing eulogium and 
the most philosophical commentary upon the War 
for the Union. 

In another place, I see that, quoting very care- 
lessly from memory, I have put the warning, " Let 
him who hath a dead hand take heed how he strikes," 
into the mouth of Lord Chief Justice Selden. My 



l'envoi. 873 

cooler recollection is that it came from the lips of 
quaint old Fuller. 

I make these corrections after the wisdom of Sir 
Richard Moniplies of Castle Collop, whose rule was 
to speak all the ill he knew of his family: being 
quite sure that if he did not some ill-natured person 
would be sure to detect and publish it. 

And, now having confessed and asked absolution 
for these and all other sins of omission and com- 
mission, I beg your kindly reciprocal 

82 



INDEX. 



Adame, 243.250,251 

Adams, North, 106,243,349,323 

Agriculture, a christianising power.. 297 

Albany Institute, 80,108,216,223 

Alford, 833,356,357 

Allen, Rfev. Thomaa, 41,386 

Appleton, Nathan, . 191 

Ashley Lake, 153 

Athenaeum, Berkshire, 8l9, 821 

Atotarho's Duff, 82 

Audubon, 64 

Aupaumut 65,81 

Balanced Rock, 78 

Bald Head, , 359 

Bald Mountain, 261 

Bartlett, Gen. Wm. F., 46 

Bashbish Falls, 157 ; (chapter on), 215 

Beauty and Brains, 285 

Beauty of Berkshire analyzed, 388 

Bellows pipe, The, 350 

Benton, E. R., 133 

Berkshire scenery, characterized, 2, 5, 388 

Berry Pond 370 

Bigotry in Berkshire, 313 

BiehoH, Henry W., 364 

Boulder trains of Richmond, 116 



3*76 INDEX. 

Bowles, Samuel,. .. 337 

Briggs, Geo. N., 49 

Brown, Col. John, 40 

Bryant, Wm. C 295,296,820 

Bupybodies, , 70 

Canaan, N. Y., 12ii 

Clianniug, Rev. Dr. Wm. Ellery,. 312, 359 

Cky, Henry, 323 

Columbia Hall, Lebanon Springs^ 92, 128 

Constitution Hill, 167 

Converting a Tory, 23, 207 

Copake, N. Y., 216,223 

Crane, Zenas and Zenas M., 267 

Curtis, George William, 371 

Dalion 183, 251, 266 

Deokook, Mount, 358 

Dewey, Prof. Chester, 287 

Dome of the Taghconics, 240 

Douglas, Alfred, 317, 220 

Douglas, Captain Asa, 41 

D wight, Gen. Joseph, 314 

Eagle's Nest, ... 218, 219 

Eastou, Col. James, 40 

Edwards. Jonathan 66,296,298 

Egleston, Major Azariah, 363 

Egremont 216,241 

Elm, old, of Pittsfield 12 

Elms of Stockbridge 295 

Fern Cliff 324 

Field, Cyrus W., 305,344 

Field, David Dudley, 304, 344 

Field Meetings, Scientific, 79,105,216 

Fort Hill, Commisariat and merry days at, 183 

Geography, Physical. 117, 342 

(teology, 80, 119, 129. 152. 165 



INDEX. 37T 

Glassworks, Berkshire Crystal, 371 

Qoodale, Elaine and Dora, the child poets, 216 

Goodale, H. S 220 

Goodrich, Captain Charles, 20 

Grace the madcap 64, 65, 75, 245 

Great Barringtou. 216, 241, 308 ; (chapter on), 322 

" Green Hills of Taghconic," song, 149 

Green River, 216,241,333 

Grey lock, 1 ; (chapter on), 242 ; Heart of, 258 

Greylock Hall, 346, 346. 347 

Hawthorne, Nathaniel, 317 

Hancock, 40, 369 

Heatlley , J. T., 240 

Hermit Cascade, 201 

Highway Surveyors, tyranny of, 19 

Holnus, Oliver Wendell, 110, 192 et seq. 

Homes, Henry A., 221 

Hoosac Mountains, 2, 141 ; splendid views from, 154, 323 

Hoosac Tunnel, 157, et sag. 

Hopkins, Pres. Mark, 305, 344 

Hopkins, Prof. Albert 260, 344 

Hopper, The, 263 

Housatouic rail road, 822 

Hudson's Brook, 165 

Icy Glen, 314 

Indian Mission and burial place, Stockbridge, 296 

Isabel Walton, story of, 13 

Josh Billings, 177 

Kemble, Mrs. Frances Anne 243, 252, 359, 365, 366 

Lanesborough, 153, 167, 228, 301, 337, 338 

Laura's Rest, : 306 

Laurel Hill, ... 304 

Laurel Lake, 325 

Lawyers as wizards, : 31 

Lebanon Springs, 86 , Life at, 89,148 



378 » IXDEX. 

Lee, 131,324 

Lenox. 108, 110, 123, 241, 251, 308 ; (chapteron), 349 

Leuox Furnace, 153, 357 

Lenox Mountain Range 125, 128, 851 

Lilly Bowl 353 

Lonrrfellow, Henry W., ... 190 

Love making, Scientific, 107 

Lulu Cascade, 369 

Lyell, Sir Charles 122 

Malikeenac, Lake, 316, 319 

Maple wood Grounds and Young Ladies' Institute, 284 

Melville, Hermann, 198, 317. 318 

Melville Hill, 351 

Melville Lake, 351 

Melville, Major Thomas, 193 

Minute-men of 1775 and 1861, 43 

Money Hole. 260 

Monument Mountain, 110, 318, 33i/ 

Mount Rhigi, 233 

Mount Washington 215, 218 

Nathan Jackson's integrity 210 

Natural Bridge at North Adams, 164 

New Ashford, ... 337 

North Adams (chapter on) 156, 243, 249 

Notch, The, at North Adams, 249 

October Mountain, 199 

Old Clock on the Stairs, 191 

Old Elm of Pittsfield Park, 13 

Old ^yorshipper, The, 173 

Onota Lake 180 

Osceola. Mount 353 

Painter's Story, The, 144 

Paper mills, 266 

Parker, Sharpshooter Linus, 203 

Perrv, Rev. David. 113 



nrDBZ. 879 

Perry's Peak, 104, 108 

Phantoms of Shoon-keek-Moon-keek, 67 

Pic-nic life, 83, 104, 246 

Pine, Song to the 75 

Pittsfield, 9,39 

Poems. 

Grey old Elm, 37 

Pines loquentes semper habemos, 75 

Oreen hills of Taghconic, 149 

Sunny Vale 213 

King Grey lock's mountain height, 264 

Scatter the Germs of the Beautiftil, 291 

Stockbridge Bowl, 320 

Agricultural Ode, 328 

Poontoosuc, , 67 

Pontoosuc Lake, 60, 245 

Potter's MountaiQ, 369 

Quartzite 181,141,153,201 

Queecby Lake, 87, 141 

Bailroads. 

Boston and Albaoj, 323 

Housatonic, 322 

Rebellion, War of the, 43, 44 

Revolution, Patriots of the, 41, 42 

Reed, Dr. Stephen 120,121,123 

Richards, \Vm. C, 112 

Richmond, 108. 355 

Richmond Boulder tiains, 114 

Richmond Lake, 109 

Roaring Brook, 190 

Rock Mountain, 152 

Sacrifice Rock, The, 304 

Saddleback Mountain, 244 

Sand Springs, 346 

Scaiter the Germs of the Beautiful, 291 

Sedgwick, Catherine M., 87, 88, 309, 361 



380 INDSX. 

Sedgwick, Charles, 360 

Sedfrwick, Theodore, 309 

Shaw, Henry and Henry S., 177, 333 

Shaw, Rev. Samuel Brenton, 178 

Shays Rebels, 154 

Sheffield, 240 

She would be a gentleman's wife, 93 

Shoon-Keek-Moon-keek, 67 

Smith, Gideon..... 203 

Soldiers, honors due to, 39 

South Mountain, 147„353 

Spectre Brook, 260 

Stockbridofe, 393 ; stormy times in, 399 ; Indian Mas- 
sacre, 301, 323, 349 

Stockbridge Bowl, 316, ^20 

Stories of the Village Green, o9 

Sumner. Charles, 3'i6 

Swiss Lovers, The 223 

Symoiids Peak, 244 

Tales. 

Tales of a tree, 13 

Isabel Walton 13 

Lucretia W illiams 31 

Tales of the Village Green 39 

Phantoms of Shoon-keek-Moon-keek 67 

Atotarho's Duff, 81 

She would be a gentleman's wife, 93 

The Wizard's Glen, 131 

Undine's Glen, 140 

White Deer of Lake Onota, 184 

The Old Worshipper, 173 

Tales of the Tories 803 

The Swiss Lovers, 333 

Wahcouah, 369 

Ten million years ago, 114 

Thoreau, Henry, 248, 354 

Tilden, SanmelJ., •. 86 



INDEX. 381 

Todd, Rev. Dr. John, 63, 163 

Tom Ball ( rountain), 857 

Tories' Glen 190.200 

Tories, Handling of, 28 ; Tales of, 202 

Town, College and Spa, 337 

Troy 108,216 

Tucker, Joseph, 363 

Tunnel city, Marvels of, ...» 156 

Tyler, Rev. Wellington H., 287 

Undine's Glen, 144 

Unkamet's Path 323 

Wahconah Falls and a tradition about them, 266 

Walker, Judges Wm. and Wm. P., 363 

Ward, Samuel G., 866 

Washington mountain, , 151 

Waterworks, Pittsfield, 141, 151 

Wendell, Col. Jacob and Judge Oliver, 192 

West Stockbridge, 857 

White Deer of Lake Onota, 184 

Williams College, 246, 826, 837, 342 

Williams, John Chandler, 21, 39, 47, a71 

Williams, Col. Israel, 22 

Williams, Lupretia .... 22 

Williamstown, 243,261,837 

Windsor, 266 

Wyomanock 87 

Tocan'sSeat, 169,856,358 



MAPLEWOOD INSTITUTE. 

One of the most widely aud longest known features of 
Pittsfield, physically and socially, has been and is, its school 
for young ladies. Founded in 1841, it soon reached a national 
patronage and fame. 

Here first, liberal provision was made for the healthful ex- 
ercise of young lady pupils, a gymnasium ninety feet by fifty- 
fiive being established in the spring of '51. Dio Lewis, visiting- 
it about a dozen years ago, declared with great emphasis that 
not a school on the continent was doing as much for the 
physical development of its pupils. 

The grounds about the buildings, always of rare attractive- 
ness, are now more beautiful than ever, magnificent elms and 
maples of fifty years' growth, and fountains, flowers and 
shrubbery adding every year to its beauty. 

As regards intellectual training, Maplewood well maintains 
its position. With its regular collegiate course, of four years 
it has of late also a special classical and mathematical course 
for those desiring to be fitted to enter Smith College, or any 
similar institutions and also a music course with diploma. It 
also gives more prominence than formerly to drawing, sketch- 
ing from nature, and studies designed to fit pupils for the 
practical duties of life. 

Its aim is to make a thoroughly home-like place for a limited 
number of students, in marked contrast with those institu- 
tions which receive and educate several hundred, all mature 
enough to be fully able to take care of themselves. The 
principals with their fainilies and most of the instructors 
reside within the institution. 



THE BERKSHIRE ATHEN^TJM. 

The trustees of the Berkshire Atheuseum were incorporated 
iu 1S71 for the promotion of education, culture and re- 
finement by means of libraries, reading-rooms, cabinets, 
lectures, etc. Previously established libraries and cabinets 
were combined in their hands. A costly and capacious build. 
ing has been erected on Park Square. The library now 
numbers about eleven thousand valuable books ; and there 
are an historical museum and a miueralogical cabinet ; each 
with a large number of rare and interestinor specimens. 
Readino; rooms for reviews, magazines and newspapers have 
been opened. 

All departments of the Athenaeum are open daily, and the 
library and reading rooms every evening ; and the use of all 
is entirely free to the public, under such rules only as are 
needful for the protection of the books and other property. 

The trustees solicit donations of contributions to the library 
and cabinets ; especially of books, manuscripts and other 
articles illustrative of the civil, military, or natural history of' 
the county. 

The edition of the report of the proceedings at the dedica- 
tion of the Pittsfield Soldiers' Monument, including the oration 
of Hon. George William Curtis, has been presented to the 
Athenseum, and copies will be sent post-paid, to any ad- 
dress on the receipt of the retail price, 25cts. The report is 
a very handsome octavo pamphlet of 73 pages, with a pho- 
tographic view of the monument. 



THE BERKSHIRE LIFE INSURANCE COM- 
PANY, 

Incorporated in 1851 — is one of Berkshire county's solid 
institutions. Its directors are prominent men, in the 'county, 
of various callings. It does not emulate the larj^e city com- 
panies in the extent of its business, but it is none the less sound 
on that account, as the personal supervision of its officers can 
be, and is, given to all its business operations. Ex-Governor 
George N. Briggs was the first president and was succeeded by 
Thomas F. Plunkett, who had a wide reputation for sound 
and practical business sagacity, and the conservative princi- 
ples impressed by these men on the company have been 
followed to the present time. 

Tlie institution is one that should find especial fuvoi' with 
New England men everywhere ; and command the confidence 
of Berkshire's sons. 

It has agents in most northern states ; but application can 
be made to the company direct, at its home office in Pittsfield, 
Mass. 

It aims to give to each policy holder a fair contract and to 
honestly perform its part of it. It has maintained through 
a commercial depression, \inexamped in the history of this 
country, a surplus of cash assets for the benefit of its policy 
holders, and the published statements of the company honestly 
and fairly represent its financial condition. It has never un- 
dertaken expensive methods for obtaining new business to the 
detriment of present members. 



THE HISTORY OF PITTSFIELD, 

From 1734 to 1876, by J. E. A. Smith, was prepared and 
published at the expense of the town, whose property it still 
is. It consists of two handsomely printed volumes with an 
aggregate of 1,243 octavo pages, illusirated by a map, 35 wood 
cuts and sixteen finely executed steel portraits. The work 
met with extraordinary favor from the press, from whose 
opinions we make a few extracts. 

Prom the Boston Congregationalist. 
It is seven years since the first volume of this work, bring- 
ing the history of the town to th'^ beginning of the present 
century, was issued. We then expressed our sense of its great 
excellence and interest, as we are now glad to do of its con- 
tinuation, to the present time. These two volumes furnish a 
memorial, for which any town might be grateful, and of whose 
so successful preparation any author might be proud. * * * 
We do not know where any man could go for so accurate and 
graphic a minute picture of the best New England life at the 
beginning of the present century as in the first fifty pages 
of the second volume. 

From Harpers Monthly. 
The admirable history of Pittsfield, Massachusetts, by Mr. 
J. E. A. Smith, one of the most elaborate, thorough and accu- 
rate of local histories. 

From the Springfield Bepiiblican. 
The Benedict Arnold episodes in this volume (the first) are 
among the best parts of it, and contain much that will be new 
to the reader. The whole book when completed will be the 
pride of the town, and of great service to all students of Amer- 
ican history. 



The work can be liad of the subgcriher, agent for the town 
at the following prices: First volume, 518 pages, in cloth, 
$3.40, in half morocco, $2.80 ; or it will be sent by mail in 
cloth at $2.60, in half morocco, $3.00; Second volume, 725 
pages, in cloth, $2.80, in half morocco, $3.20 ; or it will be 
sent by mail in cloth for $3.10, in half morocco for $3.50 : The 
set complete in cloth, $4.00; in half morocco, $4.80, by mail 
cloth, $4.50; half morocco, $5.30. 

S. E. Nichols, Bookseller, PitUfield. 



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J^tmi^T^y^Os 



